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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Chap. PZr^Copyri 


right No. 


siu'ir Va^yW 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


HIS FIRST AND LAST 
APPEARANCE 


/ 

By FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 


Author of -The Best Foot Forward,” — That Football Game.” 
— Tom Playfair,” Etc. 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
CHARLES C. SVENDSEN 


NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 


BENZIGER BROTHERS 


Printers to the Holy Apostolic See 


1900 



_G3387 

S Liorfaj * of 

OCT 19 1900 

Copyright ontry 

CxsJbA^.Woov 

No O .p 

second copy. 

to 

OKOfcH DIVISION, 

NOV 20 1900 



Copyright. 19005 by Benziger Brothers 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Showing how Philip Lachance Sings a Song, How 
He is Rewarded, and How Policeman Spencer 
is Troubled by the Presence on His Beat of a 
Very Suspicious Character 11 

CHAPTER IJ. 

Showing how Philip and Mr. Dunne, Becoming 
Friends, Pass an Agreeable Half Hour, and 
how Mr. Dunne Gets an Idea, Which He Dis- 
creetly Keeps to Himself 25 

CHAPTER III. 

In Which the Reader, Going Back to the Month of 
November, and the City of New York, is Wit- 


ness to a Music Lesson that was Never Finished. 34 
CHAPTER IV. 

In Which Isobel Lachance Finds and Loses Her 

Vocation . , . . 47 

CHAPTER V. 

In Which Mrs. Lachance Gives Isobel a Strange 

Order, and Dies 54 

CHAPTER VI. 

In Which Isobel Announces Her Resolution, and 
Professor Himmelstein Creates a Scene 


60 


6 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VII. 

In Which the Lachances Make Their Farewells and 

Go to Milwaukee 76 

CHAP PER VIII. 

In Which Philip Tells lsobel All About Mr. Dunne, 
and, Finding a Dollar in His Pocket, Thinks 
Himself Rich 81 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Concert, the Face at the Window, and the 

Mystery of the Overcoats 86 

CHAPTER X. 

Isobel’s Hour of Desolation 102 

CHAPTER XI. 

A Morning Walk with Surprising Results, Which, 
as the Reader Shall Presently Learn, Have 
Much to do With the Fates and Fortunes of 
the Lachances 10b 

CHAPTER XI L 

In Which Some Very Pleasant Characters Make 
Their Appearance, and the Day, Begun So Sadly, 

Is Ushered Out to the Merry Jingle of Sleigh- 
Bells and the Happy Laughter of Joyous Youth 1 1 8 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Farewell to Milwaukee! The “ Anarchist” Again 

Attracts Attention 132 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Philip Meets an Old Friend, and Gets a Surprise 

Which Literally Takes Away His Breath . . 138 


Contents . 


7 


CHAPTER XV. 

In Which Professor Himmelstein Gives an Account 
of Himself and Restores Philip to Perfect Good 


H umor 147 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In Which Marion Philippo is Prepared to Astound 

a Most Cultured Milwaukee Audience . . . 157 

CHAPTER XVII. 


An Old Friend Appears on the Scene Again, and 
the Audience is d reated to its First Pleasant 
Surprise 163 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

In Which the Audience is Surprised Beyond the 
Wildest Dream of Professor Himmelstein, and 
Philip is the Most Astounded Boy That Ever 
Sang in Public on the Stage 172 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Chapter of Recognitions and Surprises, Philip 
Decides to Remain in Milwaukee, and Isobel 
Gets a Gladsome Message 1 8 t 

CHAPTER XX. 

In Which There is a Joyful Homecoming, and JMr. 
Hammond, Obeying His Grandchild, Arises 
and Goes to His Father’s House ... .195 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Isobel Hears the Angels Calling 


210 














































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Rev. Francis J. Finn, S.J Frontispiece 

Ornamental initial I i 

“ Fie looked like an anarchist ” 14 

“ Philip began to feel that the world was out of joint ” . . . 17 

“ ‘ O holy night ! the stars are brightly shining,’ sang Philip r ’ . 19 

“ ‘ This is nice, isn’t it ? ’ said Philip, pausing between the spoonfuls ” 27 

“ Marie is plying a busy needle, with all the airs of an industrious 

matron ” 37 

“ ‘ Mamma,’ said Philip, ‘aren’t you sick? O! how hot your 

hand is ’ ” 39 

“ Professor Himmelstein coaxed Philip’s voice higher, higher, till the 

room was filled with golden sweet throbbing little notes ” . . 43 

“Isobel, kneeling before the statue of the Blessed Mother, was 

praying for further light ” 49 

'< ‘You are troubled, dear mother. What is it ? ’ ” . . . . 55 

“ She had been a bread-winner long enough to know that it is worth 

while looking many a time before leaping once ” .... 61 

“Seated, tense and eager, on the edge of the chair . . 67 

“‘Isobel, on my knees, I ask you. Once, just once, let me haf 

my leetle poy to appear in public ’ ” 73 

“ He walked or rather staggered away ” . 79 

“After the manner of Sousa ” . . ...... 89 


io List of Illustrations. 

PAGE 

“ Philip, not without reason, admires himself” . 95 

“ Philip was lying quite still ” 103 

“ The Sisters came to Isobel’s assistance ” . 1 13 

“ The coming Sousa amuses himself ” ........ 119 

“Three little girls from school ” 125 

“ Our Sisters go to the Holy Angels’ Academy ” 129 

“‘Look at that funny man,’ cried Edna” 135 

Philip listens to Professor Himmelstein’s recollections of the Arabian 

Nights 143 

“His first appearance ” 167 

“On Philip’s appearing, . . . Walter said ‘Gee !’” . . 173 

“‘Listen, Marie,’ she said presently” 191 

“ Charlie and Marie literally threw themselves upon the timid old 

man” 199 

“Several minutes were spent in the exchange of warm greetings” 203 


HIS FIRST AND LAST 
APPEARANCE. 


CHAPTER I. 

SHOWING HOW PHILIP LACHANCE 
SINGS A SONG,. HOW HE IS RE- 
WARDED, AND HOW POLICEMAN 
SPENCER IS TROUBLED BY THE 
PRESENCE ON HIS BEAT OF A 
VERY SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER. 

T ought to have been a gloomy day, 
but it was not. Although the 
hands of the City Hall clock an- 
nounced to the people of Milwau- 
kee that it was only three in the after- 
noon, the streets were shrouded in a 
premature twilight. The sky above was 
of a dull, dead, slate-color, and the wind below was sob- 
bing when it ceased to howl. It was in a cutting humor, 
and its wings were of ice. It was a bitter, biting, clamorous 
northeaster, and when it nipped noses it left them red and 
their owners gasping. So, I repeat, it ought to have been 
a gloomy day. However, there are other circumstances 
besides the weather to be taken into account ; and, more- 
over, the weather on this occasion had its redeeming fe-a- 



12 His First and Last Appearance . 

tures. After all, one does not expect sunny skies and long- 
drawn afternoons and balmy airs in mid-December. Then 
it was snowing — snowing in a quiet, steady, deliberate man- 
ner. The large, fluffy flakes came down thickly, leisurely; 
and snow in December, as every boy and girl will admit, 
is a glorious thing. It gives promise of merry sleighing 
to the joyous jingling of many bells, and of strong forts 
and of jolly snow-ball fights; best of all, when it comes in 
mid-December — it was now the seventeenth of that wintry 
month — it whispers to the hearts of the young that glad- 
dest of news, “ Christmas is coming ! ” 

But if the snow and the bitter wind left any doubt as 
to the near advent of that joyous day, there were signs 
galore, on this particular afternoon, which established it to 
a certainty. Rosy-cheeked matrons — they were all rosy- 
cheeked in this bracing weather — were pushing busily along 
the street, carrying bundles which hinted of toys, and 
pretty gifts and Christmas trees. They wore an air at 
once joyous and mysterious — joyous because they were 
shopping for the dear little ones at home; mysterious, 
because, doing good by stealth, they feared the possibility 
of detection. And the shops — how gay they were with 
thronging customers and smiling, busy clerks and sales- 
men ! How pretty, with bunches of holly and ivy leaves 
and mistletoe! Express wagons were in much evidence; 
evergreen trees, of many varieties, cut and trimmed for 
their festive appearance in the parlors of happy homes, 
were to be found at almost every corner, and errand boys 
wore as plentiful as blackberries in late summer. 

The shops on Milwaukee Street, just north of the 


His First and Last Appearance. 13 

post-office, were, ot course, in their very best holiday attire. 
Of them all, none was brighter, none more inviting, none 
prettier, none more thronged than Conroy’s, the proprietor 
of which, as everybody knows, or ought to know, is the 
fashionable caterer of Milwaukee. 

In front of this most inviting confectionery, but with 
his back to it, hopped and skipped a lad of about ten years 
of age. His little nose was red, and his thin lips looked 
pinched and blue. His eyes were large, dark, and innocent. 
They were eyes that looked out into the world as though 
they expected to find a new friend in every man, woman, 
and child upon whom they alighted. An imaginative 
stranger meeting their gaze would read in them the pretty 
question, “ Aren’t you a friend of mine? ” I am sorry to 
say that this little boy did not seem to be at all comfortable, 
as he gazed with absorbing attention — though he continued 
his hopping and skipping movement — upon the dazzling 
cuff-buttons, rings, and other articles of jewelry, exhibited 
by a street vender to a public which refused to be inter- 
ested. The splendor of this array was splendor without 
heat; and the boy was evidently cold. His knickerbockers 
were thin and frayed; his jacket, buttoned close about him, 
was, in view of the weather, of a light texture, and over- 
coat he had none. His hands were deep in his pockets, 
so deep that he was bent forward, as though he were mak- 
ing a back for the game of leap-frog. Having at last satis- 
fied himself with his examination of the wares and stared 
artlessly at the vender, surveying him, that is, with an exten- 
sive view, from top to toe, he addressed himself to chasing 
large, lingering flakes and catching them in his open mouth. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


14 


In his not over-successful endeavors he bumped into sev- 
eral people, and, receiving words from two or three of them 
which were not exactly encouraging, he discontinued the 
amusement and turned his face toward Conroy’s show- 
cases, large, magnificent, gleaming, 
resplendent. 

As he turned, there came along 
the street a man apparently advanced 
in years. He wore a ragged, fierce 
beard, long and unkempt; his cheeks 
were hollow and of a slightly yellow- 
ish color; a slouch hat concealed his 
forehead, the brim hanging down so 
low that one wondered whether it did 
not imperil the safety of the dark 
spectacles which bestrode his promi- 
nent nose. His whole appearance 
— shaggy clothes, long hair, fierce 
mustache, suspicious hat, and rough 
beard — gave one the impression of 
an anarchist. His eyes happening to 
fall upon the boy, he started vio- 
lently, and, ceasing suddenly in his 
walk, he sent a colliding youth imme- 
diately behind him into the 
gutter. ^ 

£C Look what yer a-do- 
in’, will yer?” snarled the 
injured lad. 

But the suspicious- “He looked like an anarchist 



His First and Last Appearance . 15 

looking man gave no heed to this remonstrance ; his gaze 
was riveted on the solitary little boy, who, now bent lower 
than ever, was staring into one of Conroy’s show-cases. 

Pushing back his slouch hat and readjusting his glasses 
with a single quick motion of the hand, the man stood 
stock still for fully half a minute ; then suddenly, and with 
the air of a burglar, he started for the other side of the 
street, where, finding a telegraph pole convenient to his 
use, he stationed himself behind it, and from this coign of 
vantage continued to stare at the unconscious child, as 
though he were the only little boy on the face of the round 
globe. 

The object of these attentions was meanwhile enjoying 
a Barmecide feast. No wonder his eyes grew large; no 
wonder he forgot everything, save the tempting array under 
his gaze. There were oranges there — great pyramids, glo- 
rious, golden — which would make the driest mouth water. 
And then that platter of cream puffs! It was quite wicked 
to put such nice things where hungry little people could 
only look at them. Cream puffs were not made to be 
looked at, but to be devoured. And the candies — some 
of them done up so cunningly in paper that they looked 
like little fairies bundled up for a winter outing — the can- 
dies were of all the colors of the rainbow. To add to 
their splendor, there was a bewildering array of pretty boxes 
and many tasseled cornucopias, and toy animals — elephants 
and cows and camels — whose interiors were filled with every 
variety of sweets and dainties. The frequent opening of 
the door, as men and women passed in and out, brought 
to his nostrils a savory odor, and each whiff from within 


1 6 His First and Last Appearance. 

that place of delight made him feel fainter, hollower. In 
spite of his sunny disposition, the boy began to think that 
the world was just a little out of joint. 

"It’s a wonder,” he soliloquized, as with changing 
foot he kicked his own legs and doubled himself up in 
admiration of the pretty things, so near and yet so far — 
“it’s a wonder that some bad man doesn’t come along and 
break in this window. I know I should, if I was bad.” 
And thus speaking, he pressed his tiny nose against the 
glass, and fell into a contemplation which seemed to absorb 
his entire being. 

The elderly man across the street, meanwhile, had 
removed his hat and glasses. The removal of the hat, 
revealing a head of bushy hair, added to his anarchistical 
appearance. The policeman on the beat, James Spencer, 
began to be interested. No one, he reflected, went about 
with a head of hair like that but an anarchist or a football 
player. Now, it was plain that he of the bushy hair was 
not a hero of the gridiron ! and, indeed, with his glasses 
removed, he blinked like an owl, and looked utterly help- 
less, and not at all like one who could buck his way through 
the line. And so he continued to blink, shutting now one 
eye, now the other, as though he were trying to get every 
possible point of view of the lad at the show-case window. 

The policeman grew interested. No such suspicious 
character had set foot upon his beat for many a day. 

Meanwhile the child continued his ecstasy and the 
process of flattening his nose. Raising his eyes presently, 
his attention was caught by the decorations in the upper 
part of the show-case — the bright red berries of the holly. 


His First and Last Appearance 


l 7 



Philip began to feel that the world was out of joint. 



1 8 His First and Last Appearance. 

the dark green of the ivy, the olive-green laurel, the 'masses 
of mistletoe and the other holiday decorations. All these 
things brought Christmas so near that, forgetting his hun- 
ger, losing sight of the place and the time, yet still mechan- 
ically kicking an alternate heel against an alternate leg, he 
began humming to himself the song of Noel. 

As the ecstasy grew deeper, richer, intenser, the music 
waxed clearer, sweeter, fuller. 

“Ah!” muttered the man across the way, and forth- 
with he clapped on his hat, adjusted his spectacles to his 
nose, and ceased to blink, while his face lighted up with a 
great wonder and a great delight. 

“O holy night! the stars are brightly shining,” 

the boy had begun, in tones as sweet as they were low. 

A gentleman, somewhat portly and well-to-do in ap- 
pearance, who happened to be passing just then, caught 
the sweet strains, and turning his head, glanced at the boy, 
first carelessly, then with sudden interest. He paused, his 
gaze fixed fully upon the little heel-kicker, who for the 
sake of the melody had risen to a more erect position 
and withdrawn his nose from contact with the pane.- As 
the gentleman gazed, his brows went up in surprise, 
and he took hold of the ends of his brown mustache with 
either hand and tugged at them nervously, varying the 
act occasionally by twisting them between his finger and 
thumb. 

“ It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth,” 

continued the lad, his voice growing stronger, lovelier, 
sweeter with each note. The gentleman gave a gasp of 


His First and Last /lppcarance. 19 

astonishment. Strains like these, lie thought, belonged to 
paradise. 

So interested was the policeman in watching with grow- 
ing suspicion every movement and gesture of the strange 



“ ‘ 0 holy night ! the stars are brightly shining sang Philip.” 


old man, that these delicious sounds fell upon his ears 
unheeded. The unwitting object of his attentions, now 
beaming with a benevolence quite in contradiction with the 


20 His First and Last Appearance. 

general ferocity of his appearance, produced from an inner 
pocket a small steel bifurcated instrument, and gazed at it 
with a smiling mouth and a frowning brow. 

This was too much for Officer Spencer ; he had never 
seen a tuning-fork before. For aught he knew, it might 
be some new form of explosive. 

“ Look here,” he said, advancing, “get ! ” 

“H ow?” cried the man, ceasing to smile, and, with a 
start, turning ghastly pale under the eye of the official. 

“ I know you,” said the policeman, at a venture, “ and 
if 1 see you around here again, I’ll run you in. There, 
now; clear out ! ” 

The man, who was trembling perceptibly, threw out 
both hands in a rude, deprecating gesture, and casting one 
lingering, longing look upon the boy, hurried away towards 
the post-office, where, sheltering himself behind a projec- 
tion of the building, he bobbed in and out alternately, like 
a Jack-in-the-box, bobbing out when the policeman’s back 
was turned, bobbing in so soon as Spencer faced in his 
direction. 

“ Long lay the world in sin and error pining 

Till He appeared, sweet Babe, upon our earth.” 

The boy’s voice took on strength with every word ; 
there was a tenderness in its full tones, the hint of a sob, 
which was inexpressibly touching. The gentleman dis- 
covered two big tears starting from his eyes, and, in con- 
sequence, stopped twirling at his mustache. Three ladies 
who were about to enter the caterer’s paused and gazed, all 
of them with raised brows, one of them with open mouth. 


His First and Last Appearance . 21 

“A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices; 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” 

Other men and women happening to be passing by 
paused to listen; surely since Solomon Juneau, the pioneer 
of Milwaukee, came thither to pass his best years among a 
savage race, surely sounds so sweet, so thrilling, had never 
floated away upon the breezes from the lake. A girl of 
about sixteen, a pupil of the Holy Angels’ Academy, joined 
the group. Her face kindled with pleasure, and, as she 
looked at the thinly clad child, softened with pity. Almost 
instinctively she opened her purse. There was just one 
dollar in it. She took it out without the least hesitation, 
and, as the singing proceeded, quietly edged her way to the 
boy’s side, and, so deftly that no one noticed her action, 
slipped the coin into the pocket of his jacket. Her home 
was over a mile and a half away, on the West Side, but 
when she left the group, presently, she walked the entire 
distance. You may be sure, though, she did not suffer 
from cold or fatigue. Her gentle heart was much too warm 
for that. 

The boy, unconscious of the crowd that was steadily 
growing, now broke into the most beautiful part of that 
most beautiful song: 

<* Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices ” — 

“An angel’s voice, rather,” whispered one lady to 
another. “That boy’s voice does not belong to this earth.” 

“ Noel! Noel! O night when Christ was born! ” 

The crowd, cold though it was, stood transfixed. The 


22 


His First and Last Appearance. 


eyes of some were wet with tears; the eyes of others were 
gazing into the far, far away, as though the night divine, 
with its precious charge, its God Incarnate, lay before their 
inspired vision. 

“Noel! Noel! O night, O night divine!” 

The clear, young, fresh, untainted soprano voice rose 
and fell, swelled and quivered, then died away on the last 
note, like the passing of an angel, bright and glorious, from 
our ken into the regions where sight cannot follow. 

The song was over. Some of the listeners rubbed their 
eyes as though they had awakened from a dream of heaven. 
Several sighed softly. One sob broke the spell. The boy 
hearing it, turned, and on seeing the crowd, flushed scarlet. 
He showed that he wished to escape, and the kindly men 
and women, willingly making room for him, departed upon 
their respective avocations. They had tasted deep of 
Christmas, and were silent. 

“ Hold on, my little boy! ” The words came from the 
portly gentleman, who was again tugging, but with the 
fingers of one hand only, at his mustache. The other held 
his handkerchief. 

The boy, who was panting and quivering from, shame 
and alarm, gazed into the stranger’s face, and at once con- 
fidence returned. Indeed, it was a kind face, the face of 
one who had tasted sorrow, and been chastened thereby. 
The features were regular, and the expression at once 
serious and sympathetic. 

“How do you do, sir?” said the boy, holding out his 
hand. 


His First and Last Appearance . 


23 


cc My boy, tell me your name, please. Your face is 
quite familiar to me, and I’m sure IVe seen you before,” 
he said, as he shook the proffered hand. 

“ My name is Philip, sir - Philip Lachance — and I come 
from New York.” 

Philip, like most New York boys, had a delicacy about 
pronouncing the letter “r.” He said “soi” for sir, and 
“shoit” for short, and “New Yoik” for New York; and 
all these variations from the franker Western utterance 
sounded very prettily in his mouth. 

“Ah!” said the gentleman, looking a trifle disconcerted. 
“Perhaps I am mistaken; but I was sure I had seen you 
before. How long have you been in the city?” 

“Just three days, sir.” 

“Only three days? Then I was mistaken.” And the 
man gazed earnestly and with a puzzled look upon the 
frank, chubby, upturned face. 

“Were you ever in New York, sir?” As Philip spoke, 
he gave his left calf a vigorous kick. The man noticed it. 

“Aren't you cold, my boy?” he said. 

“Yes, sir; it’s colder than I thought.” 

“What are you waiting for?” 

“ For my sister, Isobel. She’s gone off to look for a 
job. She wanted me to come along, but 1 asked to wait 
here. I told her I wanted to look at the things in the 
windows. My! ain’t they pretty, though?” 

“Do you expect her back soon, Philip?” 

“Not for half an hour, at least.” 

“Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Yes, sir,” came the prompt reply. 


24 His First and Last Appearance . 

“Do you like oysters ?” 

“I guess I do, sir.” 

“Well, suppose we take a little lunch together. My 
name is Mr. Dunne — Mr. John Dunne.” 

“How de do, Mr. Dunne,” said Philip, gravely, but 
with much cordiality; and, clasping the strong, fine hand of 
Mr. Dunne, Philip, with artless cheerfulness, entered the 
caterer’s. 

As they seated themselves at a table in the farther end 
of the interior, another face took the place which Philip’s 
had occupied but a few minutes before. The figure — 
slouch hat, shaggy clothes and fierce hair — seemed to 
darken the show-case. Its owner gazed long and earnestly 
at the boy who, seated afar, had his back turned. Suddenly 
the man whisked away from the window, and with head 
bent low, beat a rapid retreat towards the north. His 
flight was presently accounted for, when, stately, majestic, 
frowning, there passed the fine windows of plate-glass all 
the majesty of the law vested in the complacent person of 
Officer Spencer. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


*5 


CHAPTER II. 

SHOWING HOW PHILIP AND MR. DUNNE, BECOMING FRIENDS, 
PASS AN AGREEABLE HALF HOUR, AND HOW MR. DUNNE 
GETS AN IDEA, WHICH HE DISCRETELY KEEPS TO 
HIMSELF. 

W HILE Philip was eagerly awaiting the order for two 
bowls of oyster soup, Mr. Dunne again gazed 
earnestly into the little lad’s face. 

He found in it a strange fascination. It was a round, 
chubby face, beautiful in the soft, tender, vaguely defined 
curves of early years. The boy’s complexion was pale 
and clear; so clear and pale that the few freckles upon his 
face stood out quite distinct. His mouth was rather large, 
and his throat round and full the throat and mouth which 
so often go with a lovely voice. His eyes — large and dark, 
and confiding — were particularly beautiful. They were, 
indeed, like the mouth, out of proportion with the rest of 
the face, and, as is sometimes the case, gave the counte- 
nance that irregularity which is an added charm. His hair, 
soft and abundant, was quite black. 

At present every feature was in a state of tranquillity, 
of perfect contentment- Not a line upon it spoke of trial 
or trouble. It is so easy for the young to shake off all 
unpleasant memories. 

Philip noticed the earnest gaze of his new friend. 

“ Mr. Dunne,” he said, calmly, “why are you staring 
at me so hard ? ” 


2 6 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“I’m trying to trace, you, Philip.” And somewhat 
out of countenance, Mr. Dunne began to tug at his 
mustache. 

cc I noticed you doing that before,” continued Philip, in 
the same calm voice. 

C£ Doing what ? ” 

cc Catching hold of your mustache and pulling at it, as 
if you wanted to get it loose.” 

Now thoroughly disconcerted, Mr. Dunne put his 
hands into his pockets, smiling sheepishly the while. It 
occurred to him, then and there, that for the past ten years 
he had been in the habit of showing emotion by tugging at 
his mustache. The young gentleman, seated smilingly 
before him, was the first of all his acquaintances who had 
ever brought the fact home to him. At the thought of all 
the remarks that must have been made about this idiosyn- 
crasy, he blushed furiously. Mr. Dunne was sensitive to 
a fault. 

The young inquisitor noticed the red mantling in the 
other’s face, and grew concerned at once. The look of 
placidity and perfect contentment gave place to an expres- 
sion of anxiety. How tender the face grew at once! even 
in his embarrassment, Mr. Dunne noticed the rare change. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir. I’m afraid l have done what 
I’ve often been told not to do. Isobel has often told me 
not to ask questions of people. She says I have no tack.” 

“ Well, Philip, I’m glad you asked that last question, 
all the same. It looks very stupid to see a man trying to 
pull away his mustache.” 

“ Oh, 1 didn’t mean that, sir ! ” cried Philip, throwing 


His First and Last Appearance. 


27 


out his hands, palms upward. “ It doesn’t look bad — that 
is, I mean, it doesn’t look so very bad— at least, not in 
yon, sir.” And Philip went very red, as he realized that 
despite his explanations the situation was not improving. 

“Thank you, my boy. Your sister, I see, has taught 
you to be truthful.” 

“ Isobel is all r 
swered 

few words exhausted 
the 



‘ This is nice , isn't it?' said Philip , pausing between the spoonfuls." 


have asked me a few questions, Philip, I suppose I may 
take payment in kind.” 

“What’s that, sir?” asked Philip, opening his eyes, 
and looking puzzled. 


28 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“ Would you object to answering me a few questions in 
turn ? ” 

“ Oh, not a bit, sir. Here comes the soup,” he added, 
with a sudden access of cheerfulness. “ I’m very fond of 
oysters ; and its ever so long since we’ve had ’em.” 

As the waitress put down the smoking bowls before 
them, Master Lachance gazed about the room with much 
animation. He liked it. It was very bright and pretty. 
Everything was in perfect taste ; while laurel and ivy gave 
it the pretty Christmas touch, the bright faces all about 
him added to it .the element of sweet human life. There 
were many women, some girls, and a few men seated at the 
tables ; and the air was fragrant with perfume, and silvery 
with gentle tones and light laughter. The waitresses, neat- 
handed, gentle-moving, were gliding in and out among the 
tables, busy, yet bright ; quick, yet noiseless. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” said Philip, pausing between 
the spoonfuls. 

“ I’m glad you like it.” 

“ So am I. When I grow up, I’m going to have oysters 
for every meal ; and I’ll not let Isobel do a bit of work.” 

“ Indeed ? ” 

“Not one bit — she intends to work for a living, and 1 
don’t like it. I like crackers in my soup, don’t you ? 
No, sir; when I begin to earn my living, I’ll make her 
dress in one of those things that have puffs on the sleeves, 
like balloons ; and she’ll play lawn tennis and go visiting 
in a carriage with white horses, and, if she wants to, she 
shall ride a bicycle.” 

“ And what are you going to do ? ” 


His First and Last Appearance. 29 

<c Oh, I’ll work. And sometimes when I haven’t too 
much to do, I’ll sing for Isobel, and play baseball.” 

“ What sort of work do you intend doing?” 

“ I don’t know, sir, yet. I used to want to be a motor- 
man ; but that’s more fun than anything else. I don’t 
think I could have oysters for all the family on that kind 
of work. The conductor man gets lots of money from 
the passengers, and I used to think I’d like that. But 
Isobel has been telling me that he has to give it back to 
somebody else ; and so I changed my mind again. I don’t 
see much sense in collecting nickels all day and making 
change for people, and then handing it all over to some- 
body else. No, I don’t think 1 should care for that. 
What do you think I ought to be, sir? ” 

c< I’ll have to know you better, and you’ll have to get 
several years older before I begin to think of answering 
that question. So you came from New York?” 

“ Yes, sir, we got here three days ago.” 

“ Who are ‘we?’” 

“ Isobel and myself, and my other sister, Marie, and 
my little brother, Charlie. That’s the whole family.” 

“ Why, have you no father and mother? ” 

“ Papa died over five years ago. I hardly remember 
him. Mamma died just about two weeks ago. Maybe it 
wasn’t that long, but it seems like a year.” 

H ere little Philip’s eyes grew cloudy, and the touching 
quiver of his voice moved his listener very much. 

“ That’s too bad,” he said; “ I’m sorry 1 asked you 
about it, Philip ; it’s a terrible thing to lose one’s mother. 
Were you ever in Milwaukee before? ” 


30 His First and Last Appearance. 

“No, sir,” answered Philip. “It’s a nice place, isn’t 
it?” he went on, brightening suddenly. “I think Grand 
Avenue is the nicest street in the world, especially up there 
from Ninth Street, all the way out. Isobel took me walk- 
ing there; and it was great. They’re all nice people there, 
ain’t they ?” 

“ What makes you think so? ” 

“ Because I can see it on their faces. There are lots of 
nice people in the world.” 

“Where did you get that voice of yours, Philip?” 

In answer to this question the boy broke into a little 
laugh. Several ladies turned toward him, involuntarily. 
It was indeed silvery and beautiful, and instinct with music. 
When Philip laughed, he drew back his head, and half- 
closed his eyes for very enjoyment. 

“ It’s the best thing I’ve got,” he said, bringing his 
head back to its usual position and opening his eyes full. 
“ I guess I always had it. Papa was a musician and mamma 
used to sing most beautifully — nicer than the birds you hear 
out in the country when it’s spring-time. Was you ever out 
in the country when it was spring ? ” 

“ Often.” 

“ That’s where I’m going to live when I grow up. You 
see ” 

“Weren’t you going to say something about your 
voice?” interrupted Mr. Dunne, gently. 

“Oh, yes! Where was I? When I was seven, I was 
sitting on the curb one day in front of our place in New 
York, a hurrwning, when a queer-looking man came along, 
and stopped to listen. After I got through he asked me 


His First and Last Appearance . 31 

my name, and where I lived. I told him. Then he said 
his name was Professor Himmelstein, and that he thought 
my voice was just immense. The next thing I knew he 
went to my mother and asked her to let him train me for 
nothing. He had a great, big mustache that curled up at 
the corners; but he was a splendid teacher. He got hold 
of me three times a week for an hour.” 

“Did you like him?” 

“You bet, l did. Sometimes, when I didn't sing well, 
he would pull his hair and dance ’round the room. You’d 
think he had a fit. But when I sang well he used to look 
so happy, and he’d kiss me and buy me oranges. One 
time, when I sang a song, he took me off and gave me an 
oyster supper, just like this. Oh, he was good!” 

“H ow long did he teach you?” 

“Till I left New York, sir.” 

“What have you come to Milwaukee for?” 

“That’s the funniest part, sir. I don’t know, and 
neither does Isobel. It’s a mystery, she says. If you wish, 
sir, I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Mr. Dunne would fain have heard the story. He was 
deeply and unaccountably interested in the little boy facing 
him; but the word “mystery” had a sudden effect. It oc- 
curred to him at this juncture that to get the boy’s life 
story might be taking an advantage of his youthful candor 
and innocence. If he could make the acquaintance of 
Isobel, he might inquire more freely of her. So he 
answered: 

“I fear we shall have no time for the story this after- 
noon. Remember, you must meet your sister.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 


32 


“That’s so, I was nearly forgetting; and it’s about 
time too.” 

“Before you go, my boy, give me your address.” 

“It’s somewhere on Sycamore Street, near Tenth. I 
don’t remember the exact number. We are boarding with 
Mrs. Downing. She s a nice woman, and likes boys.” 

Mr. Dunne having made a note of this, rose, and 
followed by Philip, went to the cashier’s desk. 

“ Do you like candy, Philip ? ” he asked. 

“ Of course I do. So do my sisters, and my brother 
Charlie, especially Marie; she’s a candy fiend.” 

“ Put me up a couple of boxes of your best mixed candy, 
if you please,” said Mr. Dunne to an attendant behind the 
counter. 

When Philip, richer by these sweet gifts, reached the 
street, he was simply radiant. 

“ I should like to stay with you till your sister comes,” 
Mr. Dunne observed, “ but I fear I cannot afford to do so. 
I have several pressing engagements, and, possibly, may be 
called away from town on important business. So, Philip, 
we must separate.” 

“ Good-by, then, Mr. Dunne,” said the boy, throwing 
back his head and catching the hand offered him. The 
man shook hands warmly enough; the boy, with his face 
still raised, looked surprised and hurt. His face had a look 
of expectation. 

“Good-by, Mr. Dunne,” he repeated, still clinging to 
the hand. 

Mr. Dunne gazed down and understood. Bending 
quickly, he kissed the little innocent, who at once broke 


His First and Last Appearance. 


33 


into a smile of perfect satisfaction; and then the big man 
retreated with a blush which would have done credit to a 
little school girl. 

He had gone but a few steps when a light stroke fell 
upon his arm. He turned and perceived Philip, who at 
once backed away rapidly. 

“ Last tag !” laughed out Philip in explanation, and with 
that he was lost in the crowd. 

At that moment Mr. Dunne, as the saying is, might 
have been brought down with a feather. 

“ By George ! ” he exclaimed under his breath, after 
some minutes of brooding. “ By George, this is a red- 
letter day. It has given me an idea.” 


34 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH THE READER, GOING BACK TO THE MONTH OF 
NOVEMBER AND THE CITY OF NEW YORK, IS WITNESS 
TO A MUSIC LESSON THAT WAS NEVER FINISHED. 

A S Mr. John Dunne’s nice sense of delicacy had moved 
him not to take advantage of the artless boy’s candor, 
he went his way accordingly, after parting from Philip, with 
his curiosity aroused but unsatisfied. 

The reader of this veracious narrative, however, has 
privileges not accorded Mr. Dunne, and may without any 
vulgarity of curiosity go behind the scenes, and there learn 
the incidents which led to the presence of Master Philip 
Lachance in the City of Milwaukee. Hence we at once 
go back to New York and to the preceding month of 
November. 

It is a chill, gloomy day. The sun has worn several 
hours, yet his rays, dimmed to some extent by the thick 
autumnal haze, are almost completely obscured in a tenement 
quarter of the great metropolis by an unhappy combination 
of smoke and dust. 

On the third floor of a dilapidated-looking tenement- 
house, there is a fairly large room which looks down upon 
the narrow street below — a street not overcleanly by reason 
of the dirt and vegetable matter which are in offensive 
evidence, and not overquiet by reason of the raucous vocal 
hucksters and the shouting, screaming little street arabs. 

In this room and in various positions are a woman, a 


His First and Last Appearance. 


35 


iittle girl and two boys. The larger boy we have already 
encountered: it is Philip Lachance of the wonderful soprano 
voice. The child of five is Charlie, his younger brother. 
Charlie is happily engaged with some toy blocks which 
have seen better days, and Philip standing over him is 
superintending with much vivacity the enrapt young 
architect. 

• Marie, a pleasant-faced girl of about twelve, seated 
beside a table on which are spools of thread, needles, pins 
and the things that go to the making of a “ housewife ” is 
plying a busy needle with all the airs of an industrious 
matron She is poorly, though neatly clad; only the eye 
of a woman or of a dry-goods salesman would take in at a 
glance that her clothes are old, poor, and of an inferior 
quality. An ordinary layman would be impressed with the 
taste, neatness and elegance of her appearance. Her little 
face, not quite so chubby as Philip’s, is shining with grave 
contentment ; she feels that she is helping mother. 

Occasionally she raises her eyes from her work, and, 
changing for the moment her look of contentment for a 
graver air, looks reprovingly at her brothers. They are, 
after their kind, rather noisy. 

“Now, Philip,” she said presently, when that youngster 
had broken into a shout over the collapse of his brother’s 
latest block building, “ now, Philip, remember that mamma 
is not at all well. Be quiet, dear, like a good boy.” 

Philip becoming grave and silent at once, cast a look of 
troubled inquiry at his mother. 

She was seated in a rocking-chair, her head bent down, 
and her temples pressed between her hands. The boy 


36 His First and Last Appearance. 

recognized the attitude. His mother took that position 
whenever she was either ill or melancholy — and, I am sorry 
to say, she was in the one condition or the other many 
times in the course of a month. 

Mrs. Lachance, as Philip gazed, raised her head. She 
had a proud, strong, imperious face, a face that had once 
been singularly handsome, but upon which poverty and 
suffering and worry had written lines and wrinkles and 
pathos. Her eyes, deep and heavily fringed, told the story 
of a life that had known fellowship with bitterness and dis- 
appointment. She was a sad woman. Though she could 
not be more than forty, all the spring, all the elasticity, all 
the buoyancy of life had left that face in years long since 
past, and left it never to return. 

Mrs. Lachance had ever been a puzzle to the other 
dwellers of the tenement. She was respected, she was 
feared; but she was not loved. Some held that she was 
haughty, and gave herself airs ; others that she was soured 
and saddened by the dissipated life and the sudden death of 
her graceless husband — a Bohemian of artistic temperament, 
whose death, apparently, had been the most convenient 
thing in his record. But differ as people might on these 
points, all were agreed that Mrs. Lachance had a history, 
and that whatever it was, it would never be revealed from 
her lips Again, all were agreed that she must be a fallen 
away Catholic. 

Her children practiced their religion with scrupulous 
exactness. Philip and Marie attended the parochial school ; 
and Isobel, just lately turned eighteen, was in the graduating 
class of St. Mary’s Academy. On Sunday it was the 


His First and Last Appearance. 


37 


custom of Isobel to receive holy communion at an early 
Mass, and then, returning home, to take Philip and Marie 
to the later service. In the afternoon they attended Vespers 
and Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament. But no 
one in the neighborhood had ever seen the mother attend 
religious services of any sort. 

Yet, to do her justice, it was ad- 
mitted by all that she took more 
than ordinary care of her 
children. Philip and 
Marie were rarely allowed 
to go upon the street, and 
when they were 
outside, they 



‘ Marie is plying a busy needle , with all the airs of an industrious matron.''' 


were carefully shielded from bad company and evil influence. 
In consequence of this sheltered system (rendered necessary 
by the nature of their surroundings) Philip was very inno- 
cent, very unsuspicious; and, indeed, though he was ten 


38 His First and Last Appearance . 

years of age, he had the pretty, innocent ways of a child of 
seven. 

In looking at his mother, Philip noticed that the usual 
paleness of her face had given way to a strange flush. Some- 
thing must be wrong, he reflected ; and he eyed her more 
earnestly. 

“ Mamma,” he said, running up to her and catching her 
hand, “aren’t you sick P O ! how hot your hand is.” 

Marie laid aside her sewing at these words, and placing 
herself beside the boy, put one arm around Philip’s neck, 
and the other around the mother’s. 

“You do look ill,” she said. 

“ I’ll be better presently, my dears. It is a passing diz- 
ziness. Don’t worry.” She had raised her head to address 
them ; but the effort was too much, and again letting her 
head fall, she buried her face in her hands. 

Philip went back to his brother, satisfied. But Marie 
was not convinced. There was a change in the tone of her 
mother’s voice which had not escaped her. Withdrawing 
her arm gently, she slipped quietly from the room. 

Outside the room, she hurried down one flight of steps, 
and tapped softly at the door immediately to her right. In 
prompt answer to the knock there appeared a young woman, 
stout, rosy, smiling — the dainty lace cap, the wide-spreading 
apron and the starched dress, which crinkled as she moved, 
revealing the professional trained nurse. 

“Oh, I thought it was the doctor; but you are every 
bit as welcome, my little dear,” she said with a kindly grasp 
of welcome. “ And what can I do for you, Marie P” she 
continued, still holding and patting the little hand. 


His First and Fast Appearance. 


39 



(t ‘ Mamma said Philip , i aren' t you sick f 0! how hot your hand is.'” 


“ Please, Miss Devereux, you’ve been so good to me 
that I do not feel at all afraid to ask you a favor.” 

“Thank you, Marie: ask it at once.” 


40 


His First and Last Appearance. 

“ J think, ma’am, that mamma is quite sick. Couldn’t 
you please run up and see what’s the matter with her? ” 

“ Certainly, Marie. But I can’t get away just now, as 
I’m expecting the doctor to come any moment to see my 
patient. But I’ll be up in half an hour or so.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” and Marie turned away. 

She was about to go back to her mother, when a heavy, 
shuffling step upon the stairs caused her to turn smilingly 
to greet the new arrival. She knew the step, slow and shuf- 
fling. Professor Himmelstein was coming to give Philip 
his vocal lesson. 

“ Good morning, Professor,” she called. 

“ Ah ! ” cried the man, raising his spectacled eyes, the 
severe lines of his face softening instantaneously. “ Ah, 
my little girl ! It is like the sunshine to see you. It gives 
me the fresh heart of grace. Come and help an old man 
the stairway up ! ” 

The Professor, as he spoke, having taken off his hat, 
bowed profoundly, though, it must be confessed, with some 
awkwardness. 

H e was a thin, spare man of medium height. Being 
very near-sighted, he had a trick of wrinkling his brows 
and contracting his eyes when he looked at anything intently. 
His complexion was dull and sallow, and save for his fiercely 
luxuriant mustache, his face was clean-shaven. He wore his 
hair long: it was iron gray, and fell almost to his shoulders. 
In contradiction to the fierceness of his upper lip was the 
mild, gentle eye and the sweet, peaceful mouth. Yet that 
eye could kindle with enthusiasm; and when the Professor 
discoursed on some topic dear to his heart, it danced and 


His First and Last Appearance. 


4 T 


scintillated behind his strong spectacles. Under his left 
arm he carried a violin case. 

Marie gave the Professor her hand, and together they 
ascended the staircase. 

“ Mamma isn't very well, Professor.” 

“ So ? ” The Professor raised his brows and grew con- 
cerned. 

“She looks bad. Miss Devereux, the nurse, is coming 
up to see her in a few minutes.” 

“So! And where is my young lady, Isobel ? What 
says she ? ” 

“ She went out about an hour ago. It’s Saturday, you 
know; and 1 think she’s gone to church. She may be 
gone an hour. She’s always a-praying. I wish I was as 
good as Isobel.” 

“ She is one saint,” said the Professor as they entered 
the room. Mrs. Lachance was still in the same position — 
holding her head between her hands. 

“ Goot morning, goot morning, Mrs. Lachance,” said 
Professor Himmelstein gently. “Ah! Philip so! My 
goot woman, you look a little beside the weather.” 

Mrs. Lachance had risen; she supported herself by 
placing her hands on the back of the chair. 

“Good day, Professor,” she said. “I’m a thought 
worse than usual to-day.” 

“ Perhaps the music-lesson would interfere with your 
health — so ? ” 

“ 0, no ; I will go to my room and lie down. Philip’s 
voice and your violin are nice to listen to even when one 
is sick.” 


42 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“You hear that, Philip?” cried the Professor beaming. 
“What a loafly thing is the voice! A beautiful voice is 
something that has been stolen from the angels. And you 
are a thief, Philip. Now, my boy, stand up, and breathe.” 

Philip, as his mother left the room, took his position — 
head erect, chest expanded, his hands clasped behind his 
back. 

Professor Himmelstein, meanwhile, opened his case and 
taking out his violin executed a little fantasia of his own 
composition. Lightly and deftly his fingers ran up and 
down the strings, while the violin wailed and sobbed and 
exulted in response to his inspired touch. As he played 
his dim eyes grew brighter and brighter, and seemed to 
gaze through the walls before him into the far away land 
which only they may see who are dowered with the soul of 
the artist. The impromptu, short and lovely, came to an 
end with a flourish of sweet, lingering notes. 

“So — o — o—o — o!” cried the Professor, frowning at 
Philip. 

Then began a course in scales and intervals. Starting 
on F on the E string, Professor Himmelstein coaxed Philip s 
voice higher, higher, till the room was filled with golden 
sweet throbbing little notes which rivaled the bird’s first 
sweet rapture in the early spring. 

“ So — o — o — o — o ! ’ almost sung the Professor, mop- 
ping his brow. “ It is well. The woice is loafly. We 
shall now make it as flexible as it was not already before. 
Here, Philip, follow me with your voice.” 

Professor Himmelstein then proceeded to lead the mar- 
velous young voice a fairy dance among the sweet notes 


His First and Last Appearance 


43 



“ Professor Himmelstei n coaxed Philip's •voice higher , higher , till the room •was filed 

•with golden sweet throbbing little notes." 




iA-rt~r Ft 


44 His First and Last Appearance . 

that lurk high up the shrilling E string. Up and down, 
with astonishing intervals, went the flexible and thrilling 
voice, playing at hide-and-seek among the tones of the upper 
register. Philip, all this time, stood erect, his eve fastened 
upon the Professor’s face, in which he could almost read the 
coming change in pitch, his ears all attention to the latest 
variation in the violin’s high treble. 

As the golden notes came quivering on the charmed air, 
filling it with the loveliness of sound, Marie, clasping her 
hands and gazing into Philip’s face, became a living, breath- 
less statue. Charlie, however, was not so carried away by the 
melodious utterance as to neglect his blocks. He continued 
to build. It happened by and by, then, that just as he was 
completing a most wonderful edifice, the foundations gave 
way, and the building fell to the floor with a crash. 

Philip’s attention was distracted ; his eyes wandered, his 
ears lost their alertness ; and in response to a difficult inter- 
val, he trebled forth a note that caused the listening Marie 
to start and shiver. 

At the moment, the Professor, his eyes closed, his lips 
and features moving with every note, was in an ecstasy. On 
the wings of music, his soul had been raised high, high, 
beyond the bounds of space and time. This single flat note 
brought him back to earth with a rude jolt. 

“ Ach, Gott ! ”' he cried, throwing his violin on a chair, 
and raising eyes and hands to heaven. “ It was the woices 
of the angels that I hear — and already it is the squeak of 
a mouse.” 

He tore at his hair, and began striding heavily up and 
down the room. 


His First and Last Appearance. 45 

“ It is the pearls and the swine. He has the pearl of a 
woice, and he is a swine — swine is what I say ! ” he went on, 
stopping in his walk and glaring at Philip with eyes snap- 
ping. “You should grow red, sir, with the shame. When 
Gott gif you a woice like that, He would not haf done so 
did He haf foreseen that you would utter such note as that. 
O, it is too much, too much,” and again Professor Himmel- 
stein strode away. He stopped at the window, and glared 
down into the gloomy street. 

Philip meanwhile stood twiddling his thumbs and watch- 
ing the Professor in mild alarm and some little amusement. 
He never could quite understand the old musician’s irrita- 
tion over so trifling a thing as a false note. 

“ There ! ” continued Himmelstein, after a moment’s 
silence. “You hear that?” 

A huckster below was raucously bawling: “ Tatoes , 
appelsl tatoes , appels! ” 

“He make that woice, because the goot Gott gif him 
that woice, and gif him no professor to show him better. 
But his woice sounded better to my ear than your woice 
when you do that, sir.” He added fiercely. “You made 
like a cat.” 

Philip giggled. 

“ Miau - miau — miau ! ” shrieked the Professor in a hor- 
rible imitation of an impossible cat. While tearing his hair, 
he was dancing with rage. 

Philip tried to look serious. He saw that he had 
wounded the Professor’s feelings. 

“Let's try it again, Professor. Ill do my very best 
this time.” 


46 His First and Last Appearance. 

“So!” The old man softened at once. Returning 
from the window, he took Philip’s hand. 

“ Forgif me, my leetle poy. I was in heaven, and you 
pulled me down to - to the street with hucksters and carts. 
Already we shall begin again.” 

They were still practising when Miss Devereux entered 
the room quietly. 

“Where is your mamma?” she whispered to Marie. 

“ In her room,” answered the child rising, and pointing 
to the door. 

“Very well. I think, dear, I had better see her alone.” 

Miss Devereux entered the next room, closing the door 
behind her, and was gone for some minutes. 

“H ow is she, ma’am?” asked the child, when the nurse 
reappeared. 

“Marie, do you know where Isobel is?” 

“I think, ma’am, she’s praying in the church.” 

“Go for her at once, dear.” 

The Professor noticed that Miss Devereux was troubled. 

“ Is she very bad ? ” he asked. 

“ I fear so. She must have absolute quiet ; and no 
one but myself is to enter the room. Hurry, Marie.” 

“The Professor, swathing his violin in silks, tenderly 
laid it away in the case. He looked grieved ; for he had a 
genuine admiration for Mrs. Lachance. Opening the door, 
he glanced back, and caught Philip’s eye. 

“ So ! ” he said with intense gloom. 


His First and Last Appearance . 


47 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN WHICH ISOBEL LACHANCE FINDS AND LOSES HER VOCATION. 

A T the altar railing and before a statue of Our Lady of 
Perpetual Help, which was girt about with burning 
waxen tapers, Isobel Lachance was kneeling, rapt in prayer. 
Her eyes, pleading, eloquent, were fixed on the Blessed 
Mother’s benign face, as though she were expecting some 
word or sign from the silent beautiful marble. 

Upon the fair, white soul of Isobel the question of her 
vocation was at this time weighing heavily. School-days 
were drawing to their close, and the time for choosing could 
not long be delayed. For some weeks she had been in a 
state of darkness and doubt. Isobel, as was to be ex- 
pected, had an inherited taste for art ; she loved all things 
beautiful ; especially did she love music. Considering her 
age and her opportunities, she played the piano with a 
delicacy of touch and a justness of phrasing and interpre- 
tation which were wonderful. Her voice, too, gave prom- 
ise. It was rich, deep, and of a very rare timber. Pro- 
fessor Himmelstein used to insist that it was worth its 
weight in gold, till Philip one day asked him how much 
Isobels voice weighed. After that question, the Professor, 
while retaining his admiration, changed the terms of expres- 
sion. He insisted on Isobel s being sent to study in Berlin. 
The musical directress at the academy was, if anything, 
even more enthusiastic than the old Professor. 

Mrs. Lachance, herself a musician of no common order, 


4 8 


His First and Last Appearance. 


was moved by their words to consider seriously the matter 
of ways and means for sending Isobel abroad to finish her 
vocal training. 

But Isobel, much as she loved her chosen art, felt in 
her soul a hint, a. suspicion, that she was called to some- 
thing higher. At first, she had paid no attention to this 
still, small voice with its faint vague accents. But prayer 
and the sacraments had done their work ; and now she was 
waiting eagerly, almost impatiently, for that voice to speak 
clearly. To-day she was concluding a novena to Our 
Lady of Perpetual Help. During the preceding days of 
the novena, her soul had been more troubled than usual. 
She asked for a sign, and no answer was vouchsafed her. 
Indeed, darkness and desolation thickened. The world, 
though, looked bright and promising, the convent sterile 
ancl gloomy. 

On this Saturday morning, when she went to com- 
munion, there came a sudden answer. It is the province 
of God and of God alone to enter the soul suddenly. In 
a hash, there came a change. Just as the Sacred Host 
touched her tongue, her soul was filled with a great love 
for Christ, while the still, small voice, these many days 
well-nigh extinct, grew clear and true. Isobel almost heard 
the words: “ Veni , sponsa Christie veni , sponsa Chris ti" : 

“Come, thou spouse of Christ! come, thou spouse of 
Christ!” 

lsobel’s memory ran over the various communities she 
had visited and the various Sisters and nuns with whom she 
was personally acquainted. There was not a single com- 
munity that she did not admire and revere; not a single 


His First and Fast Appearance , 


49 



I so be l, kneeling before the statue of the Blessed Mother , %vas praying for further light 


50 His First and Last Appearance. 

nun that she did not like very much. Three or four of 
them, indeed, she loved tenderly. As for the academy 
which she had attended, she loved every desk, every chair, 
every room in it. It was to her another home. And yet, 
strangely enough, now that she came to consider the question 
of devoting her life to Christ in some sisterhood, not one 
of these dear faces, not one of these loved communities, 
not even her own convent home appealed to her. That 
she was called to the higher life, she felt assured. Her 
doubt and indecision had flown, and God was calling her 
distinctly. But there still remained in question the particu- 
lar community or order in which she was to consecrate 
herself. 

After her thanksgiving she went home and during break- 
fast, so engrossed was she with her own reflections, took 
little note of what was passing around her. And now she 
had returned to the church, and kneeling before the statue 
of the Blessed Mother, she was praying for further light. 

Though only eighteen, Isobel was developed beyond 
her years. She was a woman in experience. She had not 
the imperious face of her mother: the lines were softer, 
gentler, and care had not set its stern, rigid marks upon her 
brow. Just now her face was serious — almost tragically 
serious. She felt, somehow, that a crisis in her life was at 
hand. And indeed, a greater crisis than she had imagined 
was impending. 

As she continued praying, there came suddenly another 
illumination; another wave of consolation bathed her soul. 
Was the veil about to lift? Was her convent home about 
to be presented to her inward eye? 


His First and Last Appearance. 51 

“It is coming,” she thought. “ I feel it. I know it. 
Yet, how strange! It seems to be before me, and still I 
cannot see. Surely, my prayer is to be heard at last. Surely, 
the answer is coming.” 

At that moment a hand was laid on her shoulder. She 
started, and turned to find that Marie, looking pale and 
frightened, was standing beside her. 

“Come quick, Isobeh I’m afraid mamma is very sick.” 

“Is this the answer?” thought Isobel, as she genuflected 
and hurried from the church. Fearful and trembling, she 
prayed again for light and strength. 

Very soon they were home. Isobel would have gone 
into her mothers room at once. But Miss Devereux 
blocked the way. 

“No, dear; not yet,” said the nurse. “ I must talk to 
you first.” 

“ Is mother very ill?” 

“Send the children down-stairs.” 

When Philip and Marie had gone, Miss Devereux 
said: 

“Isobel, your mother, I fear, has a fever of a malignant 
type.” 

Isobel’s eyes filled with tears; but she held herself 
bravely. 

“I have taken it upon myself to call in a doctor — 
Doctor Murray, who has charge of my patient down-stairs. 
He is with her now.” 

“Well, had I not better go in?” 

“I don’t know, my dear. If it’s contagious, it would be 
better perhaps for you to stay out.” 


52 His First and Last Appearance. 

“ No, indeed! My place is beside my mother.’’ And 
lsobel would have entered then. 

“ But wait a moment, lsobel. Perhaps it will be good 
for you to get the children away from here. If that is 
necessary, you should attend to it before anything else. 
Once you have entered, you might not be able to see them 
again without the risk of carrying contagion with you.’’ 

“Thank you, Miss Devereux: I did not think of that. 
You are right, and l shall wait.” 

When the doctor came out presently, he whispered a 
word in the nurse’s ear. Miss Devereux could not suppress 
an exclamation of dismay. 

“ Have you any place to bring the children?” she asked 
of lsobel. 

“I haven’t thought of any place: but I can find out.” 

The nurse took out a lead-pencil, and scribbled an ad- 
dress on a scrap of paper. 

“ Bring them there, lsobel, at once. They must not 
come back to this room for anything; nor must you take 
anything along for them. These people where they are 
going are charitable friends of mine, and the children will 
be as safe as though they were at home. Go now, dear, go 
quickly; I will see to your mother till you come back.” 

When* lsobel returned an hour later, she found the 
generous Miss Devereux awaiting her at the inner door. 

“ How is she? ” lsobel asked breathlessly. 

“ I wish I could say something to cheer you, my dear. 
But it’s a sad case and a serious one. If you enter this 
room, you are taking your life in your hand. Your mother’s 
fever is dangerous and contagious.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 


53 


“Very well,” answered Isobel decidedly. “Then I am 
quite willing to take my life in my hand; and if God wants 
it, He is welcome to it. My place is beside my mother.” 

And Isobel entered the sick-room. 

“Ah!” she thought, “perhaps this is my vocation, 
this my calling. Who knows? May God’s holy will be 
done.” 


54 


His First and Last Appearance. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH MRS. LACHANCE GIVES ISOBEL A STRANGE ORDER, 
AND DIES. 

M ANY weary, anxious days passed away, and at length 
came the crisis in Mrs. Lachance’s illness. Isobel 
had been prevailed upon by Miss Devereux to leave the sick- 
room and take the rest she so much needed after the long, 
severe watch of the preceding night. But Isobel, at such a 
time, could not think of sleep or relaxation. 1 he body of 
her mother, she had reason to believe, was beyond the aid 
of physicians; but the soul, the immortal soul for which 
Christ lived and loved and died — that might yet be saved. 
Kneeling before her crucifix, she passionately besought God 
to touch with His awakening grace the heart of her poor 
mother. 

Often and often, in season and out, during the past few 
days had she implored the fever-stricken woman to allow a 
priest to be called for; but beyond a determined shake of 
the head no reply had been vouchsafed. Philip and Marie, 
the good Sisters, and many kind neighbors in the tenement 
had united in prayer for Mrs. Lachance’s conversion. But 
thus far she had been as imperious and as obstinate as in 
the days of her health and strength. 

With streaming eyes, then, did Isobel once more address 
herself to prayer. She had been on her knees before the 
crucifix for more than half an hour, v/hen Miss Devereux 
hurriedly opened the door of the sick-room. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


55 



* You are troubled , dear mother . IVhat is it? 


5 6 His First and Last Appearance. 

“ Isobel ! ” she cried. “ Why, I — I thought you were 
resting.” 

Startled in her devotions, the girl rose quickly from her 
knees. 

“ I was praying for mother,” she said simply. 

“ And she needs prayer, my dear. I fear that she is 
sinking. She is quite conscious, but so weak ! Perhaps 
you had better stay beside her.” 

Isobel hastened into the next room. As she entered, 
Mrs. Lachance turned her face towards her child, while a 
gleam of recognition overspread her features. 

“ O, my dear mother, my dear, dear mother,” she cried, 
throwing herself beside the bed, and laying her cheek 
against her mother’s, “you have been so good to me and 
Philip and Marie. Under God, we owe everything to you. 
You have raised us good Catholics and — O, if anything 
should happen, and you were to die without having a priest, 
I don’t see how I should get over it.” 

Isobel was overcome with grief. A thin, wasted hand 
touched her cheek, softly, tenderly. 

“ Yes, dear ; I understand.” How thin, how feeble her 
voice! “You are right. I have been so proud. Quick, 
dear — indeed, indeed, I want a priest. Go, dearest, quickly, 
and while you go, pray for your poor, proud, unhappy 
mother.” 

Isobel could scarcely believe her ears. Never before 
had her mother spoken thus. Never before had there 
dropped from her mother words so tender, so humble, so 
gentle. She gazed at the patient’s face. Along with the 
change wrought by illness, she observed that the proud, 


His First and Last Appearance. 


57 


imperious expression was gone, and the hardness had melted 
away. Her prayer was heard. Grace had knocked at that 
poor heart — had knocked and entered and taken full 
possession. 

“ O, thank God ! thank God ! ” cried the girl, and print- 
ing a kiss on the mother’s brow, she hurried away on her 
sacred mission, while Miss Devereux, meanwhile, arranged 
the table, setting upon it crucifix and holy water and 
candle. 

Quickly the priest came, and when he had entered Mrs. 
Lachance’s room, Miss Devereux and Isobel remained in 
the front room, waiting and praying. 

Fully a quarter of an hour passed, before he came out. 
He was pale and excited. 

“ Isobel,” he said quickly, “ go to your mother at once. 
She has something important to tell you, which she wishes 
you to hear from her own lips. Mine are sealed, and, be- 
sides, I do not quite understand. Hurry, my child; she is 
sinking fast. I will return when she has told you and 
anoint her.” 

Isobel darted into the room. As she entered, Mrs. 
Lachance’s face lighted up with joy. Poor woman ! She 
was very meek and gentle now. Love and sorrow and 
prayer and the nearness of death — above all, grace — had 
changed the proud woman almost beyond belief. She held 
the crucifix in her hands, having just pressed it to her lips. 

“ Mother ! mother ! O, how faint you look ! And, 
mother, I see that you wish to say something. You are 
troubled, dear mother. What is it ? ” 

“ Isobel ! ” The word was so faint that the girl scarcely 


58 His First and Last Appearance. 

heard it ; and yet in the faint accents there was a world of 
anxiety. There could be no doubt of it: Mrs. Lachance 
had something very important to communicate. 

“ Speak, my mother, speak,” she answered, bending low. 
“ I am listening.” 

“ Isobel, pardon — forgive.” 

“ Yes, O mother ! you know I love you.” 

“ Love Philip, Marie and Charlie. Give them my love. 
Listen.” 

Mrs. Lachance was bringing out each word laboriously, 
and with long pauses between. She was growing visibly 
weaker. But the anxiety in her eyes was something that 
filled the daughter with a sense of awe. 

“Yes, mother; I am listening. Go on, mother.” 

“ Isobel, go — go — to — Milwaukee,” gasped the dying 
woman. As though fearful that she had not been under- 
stood, she repeated : “To Milwaukee — Milwaukee.” She 
repeated the name of the city with a violent endeavor to be 
distinct. The effort exhausted her. Her head fell back, 
but still those hungry, pathetic, eager, anxious eyes remained 
fixed so pleadingly on Isobel. 

“Yes, mother; I will go.” 

The trouble left the poor failing eyes at that, and the 
mother essayed, lifting her head, to speak further. “ Go — 
go—” 

There came a fit of coughing, which racked the poor, 
panting frame frightfully. 

“Jesus! Mary!” she gasped, and again fell to coughing 
as before. The crucifix fell from the nerveless hand to the 
floor. Isobel picked it up at once, and pressed it to her 


His First and Last Appearance. 59 

mother’s lips. She kissed it eagerly, and the coughing 
ceased suddenly as it had suddenly begun. 

Then she endeavored to speak again, but her words 
were wild and inarticulate. She was delirious. Before the 
priest returned with the holy oils, she had sunk into uncon- 
sciousness. 

“ Father,” sobbed Isobel, hastening out to meet him, 
“ I believe mother is dying.” 

The priest entered the room, and, having taken one 
look at the woman, hastily administered the sacrament of 
Extreme Unction, and began to read the prayers for the 
dying. Before he had quite finished, Mrs. Lachance gave 
a little sigh, a gasp, and then her features became still and 
calm. 

“ God help you, my dear Isobel,” whispered Miss 
Devereux. She did not need to say more ; her face told 
Isobel that all was over. Tenderly, tearfully, she bent over 
her mother’s body and kissed the face. 

“ Dear mother,” she murmured, “ God has answered 
my prayer, and you have died a Catholic. Now I see my 
vocation. It is to take your place, and be a mother to 
Marie and Philip and Charlie.” 


6o 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH ISOBEL ANNOUNCES HER RESOLUTION AND PRO- 
FESSOR HIMMELSTEIN CREATES A SCENE. 

O N a morning in December, a carriage came to a stop in 
front of the tenement. Miss Devereux, having got 
out first herself, assisted Marie, Philip and Charlie to alight. 
The children, although they were rosier of complexion than 
when they left their tenement lodgings in the latter part of 
November, were quiet and sad-faced. The red eyes and 
swollen cheeks showed that they had been crying. 

As they turned their steps towards the entrance of their 
old home, Isobel came hurrying down the staircase to meet 
them. 

“ My dear Marie, my dear Philip, my poor little 
Charlie ! ” she said, embracing them tenderly. 

“Isobel, 1 want to see mamma; I want to kiss her 
good-bv,” sobbed Marie. 

“ She isn’t dead ! ” Philip exclaimed. “ I can’t believe 
it — l can’t believe it. Is she really dead, Isobel?” 

“Yes, dear,” answered Isobel, while Charlie broke into 
a low wail ; “ poor mother is dead. And you cannot see 
her, Marie, because she was buried, and the doctor did not 
wish any of you to come home before the burial. But she 
spoke often of all of you, and sent you ever so much love. 
Just before she died, she mentioned your names. And she 
died peaceful and happy, with all the sacraments of the 
Church. Now, my dears, do not cry.” 


His First and Last appearance. 


6 1 


Marie and Philip joined Charlie in weeping afresh. 

“ Come, Isobel,” whispered Miss Devereux. “ It will 
pass in a few minutes. Let us bring the dear little orphans to 
your rooms. They behaved 
very nicely these three weeks ; 
and the people they stayed 
with are charmed with them.” 

Miss Devereux took 
Charlie in her arms ; and 
Isobel, placing herself be- 
tween Philip and Marie, put 
a protecting arm around each, 
and led them up the stairs 
into the front room. 

“Why,” cried Philip 
looking around, “what’s 
happened to our room ? 

Everything’s so changed.” 

“ I have been packing up, 
my dears; we are gettingready 
to go away in a few days.” 

“Go away!” gasped 
Philip. 

“ Go where ? ” Marie in- 
quired. “ She had been a bread-winner long enough to 

“ My dears we are going know that it is worth while looking many 

a time before leaping once." 

to Milwaukee. 

Philip stared; Marie looked puzzled. 

“ Why, that’s ever so far away,” objected the little girl, 
“ and we — we don’t know any people there, do we ? ” 



6 2 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“Are we going to stay there?” put in Philip before 
Isobel could answer Marie’s question. 

“ We shall stay there for a while, at least, Philip.” 

“And then we shall come back to New York, sha’n’t 
we ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Philip. All I know at present is that 
were going to Milwaukee. But it is a very beautiful city; 
and I will take you around, to see everything ; and we shall 
travel through a fine country on the way there, and see 
Chicago, and all sorts of sights.” 

“ O, it’s not so bad ! ” said Philip, becoming suddenly 
comforted. 

“ Perhaps we may like it better than*New York,” added 
Marie brightening. 

The two children fell to talking with each other while 
Charlie, who had taken no apparent interest in the con- 
versation, was busying himself looking up certain of his pet 
possessions. 

“ But, Isobel- are you serious?” asked Miss Devereux. 

“ Yes, Miss Devereux, I am. Sit down,” Isobel con- 
tinued, “you have been so good and kind to my mother, 
and the children and myself, that I think it but right you 
should know our plans.” 

“ Thank you, Isobel. You know what a hearty interest 
I take in anything that concerns you and yours.” 

“Very well Philip and Marie, come here, my dears; 
I want you both to listen too.” 

The children ceased their chattering, and drew near. 

“ When mother took a change for the worse, you re- 
member, Miss Devereux, you called me in. She knew me, 


His First and Last Appearance. 


63 


and at once told me that she wanted a priest. I hurried 
away and caught Father Reid, just as he was leaving the 
parochial residence. He came with me at once without de- 
laying to return for the Blessed Sacrament. He began 
hearing mother’s confession ; but noticing that she was sink- 
ing fast, and knowing that she wanted to tell me something 
that she considered to be of the greatest importance, he got 
through as quickly as possible, and sent me in to get her 
last words, while he went back for the holy oils. When 1 
came in, I could see on her face — and it was such a beauti- 
ful face after confession, my dears — that she had something 
on her mind which she was burning to tell me. She tried 
to talk, but it was very hard for her. She said, c Go to 
Milwaukee’; and then a fit of coughing came upon her. 
She recovered sufficiently to utter the sacred names, and 
after that she became delirious, then unconscious, and so 
she died.’’ 

“Is mamma really dead?’’ persisted Philip. “I can’t 
believe it. I seem to see her sitting here now, the way she 
used to sit so often, with her face in her hands and all bowed 
down.’’ 

“But why should you go to Milwaukee?” objected 
Miss Devereux. “It is expensive, and is sure to be a wild- 
goose chase.’’ 

“That’s what everyone says,” answered Isobel. “Even 
the superioress of the academy advises me to remain. In- 
deed, she is very, very kind. She has more music pupils 
at the school just now than the Sisters can attend to, and 
she has offered me a position that would provide for us all. 
But if you had seen my mother’s face and heard her words, 


6 4 


His First and Last Appearance. 


Miss Devereux, you would think twice before slighting so 
solemn a command. It was mother’s last wish, and she was 
so eager about it.” 

“Are you sure that you are acting prudently?” Miss 
Devereux went on. 

“ As the world regards matters, no. Indeed, it seems 
foolish. When we get to Milwaukee we shall have very 
little money left.” 

“ But what will you do when you get there ? Have you 
any friends or acquaintances ? ” 

“Not one; we are utter strangers there.” 

“ And perhaps,” continued the nurse, “ your mother was 
raving when she spoke. Did you think of that? Her 
fever was very high.” 

“ Yes, I have thought of that, too. Sometimes 1 have 
been inclined to believe that she was. You see, 1 feel quite 
sure that my mother has no acquaintances in that part of the 
world. As far as I can remember, she never even spoke of 
Milwaukee before. I have always thought that she had no 
friends in the West. And yet in spite of all this, I cannot 
bring myself to believe that she was out of her mind when 
she spoke.” 

“ And are you going to give up an assured position and 
risk everything in the world on such an uncertainty as that?” 

“Yes, Miss Devereux; I prayed and consulted, and 
my mind is made up. After all, I may find a place in 
Milwaukee.” 

“ I can work, too,” observed Philip. “ I can sell papers.” 

“And I’ll take care of Charlie, and keep house,” putin 
Marie. 


His First and Last Appearance . 65 

“And if we get a house with a door-knob, I’ll open it 
to the people that ring the bell,’’ said Charlie proudly. 

The little ones had already worked themselves up to a 
pitch of glorious excitement. Charlie, after speaking, 
straddled a chair, and began to play “choo-choo.” In spirit 
he was already speeding away towards the Cream City. 

Philip and Marie were flushed with joy. Think of it ! 
to get away from the big city, and travel through field and 
forest, village and countryside, awav out to the far West, to 
lands and peoples and places they had never dreamed of 
seeing. And then to begin life anew! It was like the 
children in the stories who went away from home to seek 
their fortunes. O, it was glorious ! 

But the practical Miss Devereux failed to see the 
romance of the situation. She had been a breadwinner 
long enough to know that it is worth while looking many 
a time before leaping once. 

“You say,’ she went on, “that you have consulted. 
But just a while ago, you said that every one was against it.” 

“ 1 was speaking roughly,” said Isobel with a faint smile. 
“All the kind people in the house — and they have been so 
good to me, God bless them are opposed to it. Then the 
superioress of the academy and my teacher there are set 
against it, too. They say that God has put me in charge of 
these little ones, and that it is my first duty to look out for 
them.” 

“ F^xactly, Isobel. And really, I fail to see how you 
can get over that.” 

“ Miss Devereux, don’t you know r the fourth command- 
ment ? ” 


66 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“ Well, I believe 1 do,” she answered with a smile. 

“ Honor thy father and mother,” put in Marie. 

“Very well. I don’t think God will abandon those 
who are obedient to their parents. If ever I received a 
command in my life, it was when my mother said, £ Go to Mil- 
waukee/ For the rest I trust to God s good providence.” 

“ But did you ask your confessor about it?” 

“ Of course; and he told me to pray and then follow 
my own lights: and that is exactly what I am doing.” 

“ Isobel, you are obstinate.” 

“ Perhaps I am,” answered the girl with her gentle smile, 
“but of one thing 1 am sure; and that is that I am carry- 
ing out my mother’s last wish. Come in,” she went on in 
answer to a knock from without. 

The door opened and a girl of about fourteen entered 
with a bunch of roses in her hand. 

“Why, Sally!” cried Marie. 

“ Halloa, Sal,” said Philip, while Charlie ran over and 
reached for the flowers. 

Sally Rogers was blushing under the gaze of Miss 
Devereux. 

“If you please, Miss Isobel,” she said, a my mother 
sends her kindly regards, and she sends you these flowers.” 

“ Thank you, Sally,” said Isobel, taking the roses and 
kissing the girl’s cheek. “ Your mother is too kind. What 
beautiful roses ! How nice it is to live with people who are 
so kind and thoughtful. Miss Devereux, this is Sally 
Rogers, and she’s a dear little friend of mine.” 

Sally blushed again, and became extremely self-conscious 
as she shook hands. 


His First and Last Appearance . 


67 


“Well, good-by,” she said. “Miss Isobel,” she 
whispered as she passed her, “ I went to communion for 
your mother twice, and I say my beads for her every day.” 
“ God bless you, dear,” said Isobel, holding the girl’s 



hand and going with her to the door. “ I shall never forget 
your kindness and your mother’s.” 

“ What a modest child,” observed Miss Devereux, as 
Isobel closed the door. 

tc Modest,” repeated Isobel. “ She is an angel. She’s 


68 


His First and Last Appearance . 


been raised here, and some of the tenants have been pretty- 
wicked ; but the worst of them take off their hats when they 
see that little girl, and hush their talk, and look ashamed ; 
though her mother is a washerwoman, and the girl can 
hardly write her name. 1 saw in one of Dr. Egan’s books 
a story about lilies in tenements — lilies among thorns. She’s 
one, and not the only one either, God be thanked for it. 
If Dr. Egan knew her, he’d write another story.” 

“ I wish Dr. Egan knew you,” reflected Miss Devereux. 
“ In speaking of that other, you have described yourself.” 

A shuffling step was heard outside. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Philip. “Here comes Professor 
Himmelstein ! ” and followed by Marie and Charlie he 
rushed from the room. 

There was a great to-do outside ; silvery laughter, shrill 
pipings, the deep full voice of the Herr Professor, alternat- 
ing between German and broken English, and a scuffling 
and pushing which gave the effect of the moving of a piano. 

“ Goot day,” cried the Professor, beaming in at the 
doorway. The Professor, accompanied by his three little 
friends, presented a grotesque yet pretty tableau to the 
young ladies within. Charlie, mounted on the Professor’s 
shoulders, had just succeeded in pushing down that 
bev/ildered and delighted gentleman’s hat over his eyes. 
Philip was in his arms, while Marie was rummaging in the 
pockets of his coat. 

Coming forward, Isobel restored order ; and relieving 
the Professor of his hat and coat, conducted him to his 
favorite chair, where he at once proceeded to deal out candy 
and trinkets to the little ones about his knee. 


His First and Last Appearance. 69 

“ Isobel,” he began when he had satisfied the children 
“ I pring you goot news.’’ 

“ Indeed ? ” 

“Yes; you need not worry ofer what you shall eat or 
what you shall drink. Already it is prowided.” 

“ I beg your pardon? ” 

“There is your fortune ! ” said the Professor rising from 
his chair, and pointing dramatically at Philip. 

“ Really, Herr Professor,” said Isobel, “ I don’t quite 
follow.” 

“ It’s the woice!" continued the Professor with a world- 
embracing gesture and a smile of pure happiness. 

“ The voice ? ” 

“So. That poy is the greatest soprano in New York.” 

“Indeed, Herr Professor, thanks to you, he has a 
lovely voice.” 

“ Loafly ! It is not the word. It is a hefen-message. 
And when they hear it, the people of the city will crazy go.” 

“The people of New York hear it? What are you 
driving at ? ' 

“ He will gif concerts. He will sing, and the people 
will come — and you will get the money — tousans and 
tousans of tollars.” The old man’s eyes were dancing as 
he spoke. 

“You mean, then, that you intend to make a sort of 
infant phenomenon of him.” 

“Make? Donner und blitzen — no. Not make: 
already he is a infant venomenon.” 

“ Professor, ’ said Isobel, nerving herself for a scene. 
“ Please sit down.” 


7 ° 


His First and Last Appearance. 


The subject of this discussion wps eating candy, and, in 
common with Marie and Charlie, paying little attention to 
the scene passing under his eyes. Miss Devereux tried to 
look indifferent ; but she was intensely interested. 

“Now, Professor,’ continued Isobel, as the musician 
seated himself tense and eager on the edge of the chair, “ I 
want you to listen to me. Mother is dead, and I am 
responsible for Philip. And I tell you I would rather see 
him — ” 

She paused suddenly, and turned to the children. “ Go 
down-stairs, my dears, for a while and play in the sunlight.” 
While the children were leaving the Professor mopped his 
forehead, and compressed his lips. His heart was beating 
fast, and he looked as though he were about to be subjected 
to a heavy ordeal. 

“ I tell you,” resumed Isobel, pale and quivering, “ I 
would rather see Philip dead before me now — dear, inno- 
cent Philip — than put him before the public as an infant 
phenomenon ! ” 

“So?” cried the Professor clasping his hands. Beads 
of sweat started upon his brow. 

“Indeed, yes.” Isobel’s head was lifted high, her eyes 
were flashing. There was at the moment a touch of the 
mother’s imperiousness in her demeanor. 

“ Ach Gott ! ” groaned the Professor throwing out his 
hands, and letting them fall helplessly, “ I understand 
not.” 

“ Professor, if my little brother were to appear in public 
and were to succeed, he would be everybody’s darling. 
Ladies would pet him and spoil him. He would be in the 


His First and Last Appearance. yi 

papers and fawned upon and flattered and caressed. Even 
if he were an angel, he would be spoiled.’’ 

“ With you and me to take care of him,” ventured the 
Professor in a broken voice. 

“ With you and me and a dozen of the best to care for 
him,” answered Isobel. “ Worst of all, his life would be 
ruined; for he would live in an inverted order.” 

“An inwerted order!” repeated Himmelstein. “An 
order inwerted.” Gasping he took off his glasses and blinked 
at them. “ My dear Isobel, make me not such words.” 

“ I mean,” continued Isobel, “ that he would begin his 
life the wrong way. As a child, he would be earning his 
living and appearing in public. He would be honored and 
applauded. Instead of leading the quiet, retired, studious, 
active, healthy life which is the rightful heritage of children, 
he would be before the footlights, and up till late in the night, 
and leading a life which would utterly unfit him for his 
duties as a man. By the time he was grown up, he would 
in all probability be utterly worthless, utterly good for 
nothing.” 

“ But the woice ! the angel woice ! Is the flower to blush 
unseen in the air of the desert? Isobel, dear Isobel, think 
of the woice ! ” and the Professor clasped his hands, and 
gazed out of his spectacles, which he had put on very much 
awry, at the girl before him. 

Thus far the Professor had been rising and falling back 
into his seat at short intervals, now he stood up and kept 
that position for some time. 

“O Gott!” he said, raising his eyes and hands, “how 
I haf loafed that voice ; 1 haf watched it and trained it ; I 


72 His First and Last Appearance . 

haf thought of it by day, and dreamed of it by night. Isobel, 
you must gif in. I will introduce my great soprano to the 
American public, and then I will be ready to die.” 

Miss Devereux noticed tears in Isobel’s eyes. The 
Professor was pleading as though for his own life. 

“No, Professor; it cannot be. I have thought of it 
over and over. I owe it to my conscience and to mv 
mother not to allow Philip on the stage.” 

The Professor sank back in the chair, buried his face in 
his hands, and groaned. 

“ Isobel ! ” he said after an awkward pause. 

“ I am listening, Professor.” 

“ Isobel, 1 am an old man, and my life has been one 
failure.” 

Isobel put her handkerchief to her eyes. M iss Devereux 
was deeply moved. 

“ I haf not long to live. Yes, my life has been a 
failure; and it will be. a failure unless — ” 

The poor man paused. Then he rose again. 

“ Unless my leetle Philip sing before the public.” 

Isobel said nothing. Her sense of duty was struggling 
with her gentler feelings. She loved the good, old 
Professor. 

“ Isobel,” he went on, “ for two years have I trained 
that woice of heaven. It has been the joy of my days. 
And I haf always dreamed to hear it in a great hall with 
many lights where the people are seated, but not breathing, 
for they wish to catch the every note of that angel woice.” 

Himmelstein’s voice was low and pleading. Every 
tone wrenched at the heart-strings of the two listeners. 


His First and Last Appearance 








74 


His First and Last Appearance . 


Miss Devereux would have left the room ; but a gesture 
from Isobel kept her where she was. 

“It has been my one dream, and, Isobel, by God, it 
must come true.’’ 

The awful words were not lightly pronounced. As the 
Professor uttered them, they might have been a prayer. 

“ Isobel, do you hear me, my dear? ” 

“ Professor,” said Isobel, her voice quivering, “ to- 
morrow we leave for Milwaukee.” 

The poor old man put his hand to his heart, and sank 
back upon the chair. He turned deadly pale, and gasped. 

“ Does Philip go too ? ” he asked presently. 

“ Yes. ” 

“ My Gott! Isobel, leave him with me. I will answer 
for him with everything, with my life.” 

“Ah, dear Professor, why do you torture me who love 
you so ? You know how we all love you. You know how 
grateful we are all to you for what you have done for Philip. 
None of us shall ever forget your kindness, your pleasant 
visits, your little remembrances. The children adore you. 
And yet, you ask what I think is impossible. I cannot — 
God help me — I cannot grant what you ask.” 

Once more the Professor rose. Advancing, he fell on 
his knees before Isobel. 

“O, don’t — don’t!” cried the girl, turning her head 
away, and burying her face in her hands. “This is too 
much.” 

“ Isobel ! Isobel ! Nefer yet haf I on my knees fallen 
except to Gott. Isobel, on my knees, I ask you. Once, 
just once, only once, let me haf my leetle poy to appear in 


His First and Last Appearance. 75 

public. Let him stay here with me and I will bring him 
on myself. Will you? will you?’’ 

“ Get up, dear friend,’’ said Isobel, catching his hands 
in hers. “ You are giving me a bitter, bitter hour.” 

“ Say yes,” implored the Professor, still on his knees. 

“ If 1 could— O, if I could! But I cannot.” 

With a muffled cry the old man rose from his knees, 
threw his hands wildly into the air and rushed from the 
room. 

“ Isobel, I never had to go through anything like that 
in my life. 1 never imagined you could be so strong. You 
were as firm — why, my dear! what’s the matter? ” 

Isobel had grown deadly pale, and was tottering. Miss 
Devereux caught her or she would have fallen. 

“ Are you ill, dear ? ” 

But Isobel, clinging to the nurse, made no reply; for 
she could not speak. 


76 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH THE LACHANCES MAKE THEIR FAREWELLS AND 
GO TO MILWAUKEE. 

W HEN it became known through the tenement house 
that Isobel was fixed on leaving for Milwaukee, the 
good, simple people, her fellow lodgers, could not do 
enough to show their good will. All manner of attentions 
were showered upon her and the little ones— in con- 
sequence of which Master Philip was taken ill from over- 
eating himself. 

Many callers, school friends and Sisters, kept her 
engaged throughout the day ; and, had it not been for the 
services of Marie and Miss Devereux, it is doubtful whether 
the one family trunk would have been ready for the express- 
wagon. 

Half an hour before they set out for the depot, Pro- 
fessor Himmelstein made his farewells- The old man as 
he entered, wore a sad face. His head was somewhat 
bowed, and he looked as though he had gone through a 
severe illness. 

“ I his is very, very kind of you, dear Professor,” said 
Isobel, taking the old man’s hand ; and she gazed into his 
face with pity, gratitude and tenderness. 

“ It is for me a funeral,” said the Professor with a wan 
smile. “ My heart goes with you all; and it will never 
come back.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 77 

“We shall write to you, — Philip and Marie and 
myself.” 

“Ah ! you will not forget me? ” 

“Indeed, no. We shall never forget our best and 
kindest friend.” 

The old man removed his glasses, and wiping his eyes, 
smiled. 

“Thank you, Isobel, thank you. What is it that the 
great Thackeray says : ‘Non omnis moriar - l shall not die 
altogether, if dying I live yet in a tender heart or two.’ 
So ! I will wait for the letters till I go ! ” 

“ Go? ” 

“Yes, Isobel. I loaf no more New York. I will 
return to the Vaterland, ana die among the ones I loafed 
when I was a poy.” 

Just here the children entered. They greeted the Pro- 
fessor with effusiveness, but he did not answer in kind, 
though nothing could be more affectionate than his manner 
of receiving them. For each and every one he had a 
present, a pretty gold watch for Philip, a ring for Marie, 
and a splendid Noe s ark for Charlie. 

“And now, my children, you will pray for the old man 
who nefer forgets you? ’ 

“You bet, we will,” answered Philip. 

“ Indeed, yes,” added Marie. 

“ Why don’t you come along with us? ” asked Charlie, 

In answer the old man sighed heavily. 

“ Isobel,” he said presently, “ I would see you for a 
minute.” 

The girl brought him over to the window. For a 


78 


His First and Last Appearance . 


moment, the Professors face worked convulsively; and 
Isobel suspecting that there was to be another scene, paled 
and began to tremble. 

“No, no, my dear,” said the old man, divining her 
thought, “I fight no more: I am beaten, and I — I forgif 
you. But the wound is still there,” and he laid his hand 
on his heart. 

“You don t know how grieved and sorry I am, Pro- 
fessor, that I had to act as I did.” 

“So? Well, we will not further go in that matter. 
Isobel, I — I —you are going to a strange place and among 
strange people who know you not. 1 know that you haf 
not much money. And I haf money that I do not use. 
Do not turn red, my dear; do not shake your head. Do 
not be proud with an old man who loafes you all.” 

With trembling fingers, Professor Himmelstein took 
out a roll of bills. One would think he was about to com- 
mit a crime. 

“Here it is — one hundret fifty tollars. Money ! poof! 

I care for it not. But I loaf these one hundret fifty tollars, 
and I kiss them with my lips, so ! because they will serf my | 
leetle poys and Marie and Isobel.” 

The proud spirit of the girl was conquered by this 
knightly speech and knightly deed. All his wonted awk- 
wardness was gone as he pressed his lips to the money. 

“ My dear, dear friend — I had made up my mind to 
accept money from no one and under no consideration; but 
you have conquered. I will take half of it — ” 

“ No, no ! ” protested the Professor. “ Take it all, or 
I tear what you take not into paper bits ov^r your eyes.” 


His First and Last Appearance . 


79 


“ Well, I take it all, on one condition.’' 

At the word “condition,’’ Himmelstein muttered some- 
thing in German. His words had strength in them, and 
perhaps it is as well that Isobel did not understand his 
nati/e tongue. 

“On one condition : namely, 
that I use it only in case of ex- 
treme need. Otherwise I shall 
hold it in my keeping, but it 
s«hall remain yours.” 

“ I argue not Mth you,” said 
Himmelstein. “But take it, and 
do with it as you will. And, 

Isobel, write not to me. I want 
no letters. I want no messages.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“Because,” and the strong 
voice broke — “ I want to forget.” 

The old man turned away. 

“ Goot-by, children,” he 
called. 

They came and clung to 
him, and bade him hearty fare- 
well. Himmelstein said little; 
but he looked at their faces 
hungrily. 

Their farewell was loving 
enough ; but even as he turned, Philip took out his watch 
and gazed upon it with perfect satisfaction ; Marie held the 
precious stone of her ring to the light, and Charlie was 



‘ He ’walked or rather staggered away." 


8o 


His First and Last Appearance. 


putting a pair of yellow elephants in the rear of a great 
animal procession. 

“ So ! ’’ groaned the old man dismally. 

Isobel accompanied him down the steps. 

“ Good-by ! good-by ! ” she said bravely, holding her 
feelings in restraint. “Never a night, never a day shall 
pass, without my remembering the best and truest and 
dearest friend we’ve ever had.” 

“ So ! ” said the Professor. “ I will try to forget. And 
Isobel write me once, — once only that you are arrived safe.” 

He walked or rather staggered away. 

An hour later the Lachances were speeding on their way 
to Milwaukee. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


81 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN WHICH PHILIP TELLS ISOBEL ALL ABOUT MR. DUNNE, 
AND FINDING A DOLLAR IN HIS POCKET, THINKS 
HIMSELF RICH. 

H AVING explained at length how it came to pass that 
Philip Lachance was to be seen on Milwaukee Street, 
on a cold, dark afternoon of December, it is high time to 
return to the little fellow, whom meanwhile, we have left 
outside in the cold awaiting the arrival of Isobel. 

Thoroughly warmed by his stay in the caterer’s, Philip 
frisked about quite gaily. Every shop underwent his 
enthusiastic inspection ; he forgot that he had no overcoat, 
and, indeed, that there was such a thing as cold or care or 
trouble in the world. 

But even the splendors of holiday displays tire, sooner 
or later, the youngest and brightest eyes. Philip, accord- 
ingly, began after a delightful quarter of an hour to cast 
about for some new object of interest. The trolley cars 
engaged his attention ; but they did not appeal to him 
strongly. He compared them, somewhat scornfully it must 
be admitted, with the elevated railway system of New York. 
Very soon he began to feel that it was cold, and to grow 
weary of his long stay on the streets. Suddenly, and in 
the very middle of a yawn, his eye brightened. Isobel was 
approaching. Her head was bent, and there was no mis- 
taking the despondency in her face. The cares and sorrows 
and responsibilities of the last four weeks had wrought their 


82 


His First and Last Appearance 


effect upon Isobel. She had grown much thinner, and 
there were hollows about her eyes which told of weeping 
and of want of sleep. Her complexion had grown paler; 
even the fresh breezes of that invigorating afternoon brought 
not the red to her cheeks. 

Almost immediately she perceived Philip, and at once 
her expression changed. The lax muscles of the face 
awakened, the air of despondency disappeared, and a smile 
lightened up her features. 

“ O, Philip,” she said, “ 1 am so sorry to have kept you 
waiting in this bitter cold. Did you suffer from it, dear?” 

“Not much, I didn’t,” cried Philip, emphatically, and 
with a caper. “I’ve just been having a great time. Look 
at this, will you? ” And Philip held up the two boxes of 
candy. 

“Why, where in the world did you get them ? ” asked 
Isobel, as they made toward Wisconsin Street. 

“ Mr Dunne gave ’em to me.” 

“Mr. Dunne! Who is Mr Dunne?” 

“He’s a nice man with a mustache and a most solemn look. 
He pulls at his mustache and looks at you so puzzled-like ” 

“ But, Philip, you don’t mean to say that you took those 
things from a stranger ? ” 

“ O, but he wasn’t a stranger. He's a friend of mine.” 

“ I hope you are not going to beg, Philip.” 

“ Beg! He did the begging. He made me come into 
Conroy s and gave me a lot of oysters and things. I didn’t 
ask for anything.” 

After many questions, Isobel contrived to get a fair 
account of her little brother’s somewhat unusual adven 


His First and Last Appearance . 83 

tures. The singing of Noel was hardly mentioned. To 
that incident Philip attached no importance. 

“ I’m afraid, my dear,” she continued, “ that it was very 
imprudent on my part to leave you alone on a crowded 
street. This time it turned out all very well ; but you 
might have fallen in with some one not quite so nice as 
Mr. Dunne.” 

“ He was nice, I tell you.” 

“ Indeed he was! ” Isobel had learned how Mr. Dunne . 
refrained from inquiring too closely into the child's family 
history. Evidently, she reflected, he was a gentleman. 

“ Won’t there be great times when Marie and Charlie 
get hold of this candy? ” exclaimed Philip, as, crossing the 
bridge, they came upon Grand Avenue on the west side. 

“ I notice, Philip, that you haven’t opened either box. 
That is very nice of you.” 

“ I eat a lot when I was at Conroy’s,” answered the 
young gentleman with much simplicity, <f and so 1 didn’t 
care about taking any.” 

Isobel smiled — this time without effort. 

“ Were there any letters from New York, Isobel? ” 

“That’s a fact— Guess whom 1 heard from. His 
letter came yesterday, but I only got it this afternoon.” 

u Was it from Professor -Himmelstein ? ” 

“How well you guess! He writes a beautiful letter. 
I’ll read it to you when we get inside.” 

What does he say ? ” 

ct He says that he can’t care for New York any more, 
and that he’s off for Germany.” 

“ Is he going for good ? ” 


8 4 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“ He doesn’t say.” 

“ And when is he going ? ” 

« He was to have sailed yesterday.” 

u I'm sorry, lsobel. I liked the Professor. He was 
mighty good to me.” 

“He was good to all of us. We owe him so much, 
and I do not see how we can ever repay him as we should. 
At least, we can pray for him ; and I hope, my dear, you 
Will never forget the dear old Professor as iTJhg as you live.” 

“ Every time I sing and every time I pray, 1 think of 
him,” said the boy. “When I grow up 1 intend to get a 
boat and go across and see him. You’ve got his address, 
haven't you ? ” 

“Not yet; he promises to send it when he settles 
down. Philip, I must get you an overcoat. I have waited 
and waited for money, but it is not coming. You see, my 
dear, I don't like to see you so thinly clad, but, at the same 
time, 1 hate to use the money which the good Professor 
forced me to take/' 

“ But he wanted you to use it,” said Philip, easily. 

“Yes; but I said I would not, unless it became abso- 
lutely necessary. I was hoping to get some work here — 
sewing, or copying or teaching the piano ; but so far there 
seems to be no prospect at all.” 

“ Didn’t you get that job you went after just now, 
lsobel ? ” 

“ No, dear ; and I learned that times are at present very 
hard in this city, and many good people have lost work, 
and there’s much destitution. The man I went to, on 
learning that I came from New York, said I was a fool to 


His First and Last Appearance . 


85 


leave my friends* and come to a place where the natives 
were hard pressed to make ends meet. He spoke roughly, 
but I can’t blame him. I'm afraid, dear, that we shall have 
to go back at the end of this week, if not sooner.” 
u Why not go now ? ” Philip asked. 
u Because, dear, although I have obeyed mother’s com- 
mand already, I should like to stay a few days longer to see 
if anything should come of it. There is still enough money 
of our own to lasT us to the end of the week, and then, if 1 
see no work in sight, I can use the dear Professor’s money 
to get us back.” 

“ All right, Isobel. Halloa ? what’s this ? " 

Philip, whose hand had slipped into his jacket pocket, 
brought out a bright silver dollar. 

“ Why, Philip!” 

“ Good gracious ! I didn’t know I had a dollar, Isobel. 
I wonder where it came from ? ” 

“ Mr. Dunne, perhaps ? ” 

“ 1 don’t know. He didn’t say anything about money. 
But he was awful good. Perhaps he slipped it in, when I 
wasn’t looking. Say, Isobel, to-morrow I’ll hire a sleigh, 
and take you all out sleigh- riding. Mayn’t I ? ” 

“ Certainly, dear. If you can get a sleigh for a dollar.” 
And Isobel laughed almost gaily. 

“ O you can get anything, almost, for a dollar.” They 
had now reached their lodging-house ; and Philip, radiant 
with the anticipation of the pleasure he was about to 
give Charlie and Marie tripped up the steps, and rushed 
into the house, his sweet voice filling its every nook and 
corner, as he shouted for his brother and sister. 


86 


His First and Last Appearance. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE CONCERT, THE FACE AT THE WINDOW, AND THE 
MYSTERY OF THE OVERCOATS. 

T HE Lachances, as Philip had informed Mr. Dunne. 

were staying at a boarding house situated between 
Tenth and Eleventh on Sycamore Street. It was kept by a 
Mrs. Downing. The house, for many years, had abounded 
in lodgers ; but, owing to certain changes in the manage- 
ment of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway, it 
had been left to comparative solitude just a few days before 
our friends reached Milwaukee. 

On the morning of their arrival, Mrs. Downing chanced 
to be going down Sycamore. As it happened, she came 
face to face with Isobel on the outskirts of the tiny park 
which fronts the station. Mrs. Downing was attracted by 
Isobel’s face,* she observed, on taking a second glance, the 
girl’s air of perplexity, and at once asked whether she could 
be of any service. 

Mrs. Downing began with an act of charity, and ended 
with a stroke of business. But we must not wrong her. 
The good woman was from the first a friend rather than a 
landlady; and Isobel was in luck. She could have traversed 
Milwaukee from the east side to the west side without meet- 
ing a kinder, a more sympathetic hostess. Mrs. Downing 
at once warmed to the children; she cared for them as 
though they were her own; and Isobel, accordingly, was 


His First and Last Appearance. 87 

free to come and go as she pleased, knowing that Philip 
and Charlie and Marie were in good hands. 

“Well, what luck, Isobel?” asked Mrs. Downing, as 
she met Isobel and Philip on their return. 

“ I’ve had none, Mrs. Downing; but Philip has had 
plenty.” 

“ Look at this, Mrs. Downing,” cried Philip, ceasing to 
bawl for Marie and Charlie; and he exhibited to her de- 
lighted gaze the boxes of candy and the shining silver 
dollar. 

While Mrs. Downing was holding up her hands in 
delight, down, like a wolf on the fold, came Marie and 
Charlie. Shrill cries, gurgles of joy, and a great scramble 
followed at once. But Philip held manfully to his prizes. 

“ Stop your scrapping, will you? ” he cried, “or you’ll 
get no candy. ’ 

Isobel restored peace by taking possession of the boxes 
herself and promising a fair distribution after supper, where- 
upon out of hand all three clamored for that simple meal. 

In the interest of law and order, Mrs. Downing rang 
the supper bell, and quickly ail were seated at table. Much 
to the kind woman’s concern, very little was eaten. Isobel, 
as Mrs. Downing noticed, practically ate nothing. Mrs. 
Downing watched her furtively. How nervous the girl 
was getting ; she started at the slightest unusual noise, and 
her fingers were never quiet. Since reaching the house she 
had not taken one hearty meal, though she made pretence 
of eating as well as the others. On this particular evening, 
however, Isobel was not fasting alone. Philip, for reasons 
obvious to the reader of chapter the second, was not hungry. 


88 


His First and Last Appearance. 


Charlie and Marie were so wrought up by visons of candy 
that they would not (could not, indeed) bring themselves 
to consider lamb chops, potatoes, and plain bread and 
butter. So there was little eating and much chattering. 
All the Lachances had sweet voices, and, as they laughed 
and chattered, they reminded one of a festive gathering of 
nightingales. 

Supper, accordingly, was despatched with a speed which 
was positively distressing to Mrs. Downing. Then came 
the candy distribution, and a diffusion of happiness which 
set the little ones bubbling over with joy. When the 
enthusiasm, natural to so pleasant an occasion, had abated 
somewhat, and when Philip had eaten all the candy he felt 
quite equal to, he once more related his afternoons 
adventure, laying, as was to have been expected of him, but 
little emphasis on his singing of Noel. Mrs. Downing 
showed some excitement when he mentioned the name of 
Mr. John Dunne. 

“Mr. John Dunne!” she repeated. “ Did you say 
Mr. John Dunne? Why, we all know him. He’s a 
bachelor; but, no matter — he’s one of the leading parish- 
ioners of the Gesu. f'verybody likes him. He’s a very 
good man, and belongs to the upper ten. He doesn’t go 
into society much, but when he does, he goes in the best 
society, and ” — here she glanced impressively at Isobel — 
“he’s a bachelor, too.” 

Mrs. Downing was somewhat disconcerted by the indif- 
ference with which Isobel received this last statement. 

“ Certainly, from what Philip says, he must be a nice 
man,” remarked Isobel, impersonally. 


His First and Last Appearance. 89 

“ Didn’t he look a little sad, Philip? ” inquired the lady 
of the house. 

“Well, yes, he did. But when he did smile, it was 
worth while looking at him.” 

“Poor fellow!” apostrophized Mrs. Downing. “Twenty 
years ago he was the jolliest youngster of twenty-one in 
town. But, they do be saying, that the girl he was engaged 
to jilted him; and he’s never 
been the same man since. He 
is just as good, though. I 
see him going to communion 
every week. He is kind and 
nice and gentle, but his high 
spirits are all gone.” 

“ I should like to meet 
him,” said Isobel sympathet- 
ically. “He must be a very 
beautiful character. People 
who grow kind and gentle 
under great suffering are worth 
meeting.” 

“ You’ve been kinder and 
gentler since mamma died, 

Isobel,” put in little Marie, 
catching her sister’s hand, and drawing it to her breast. 

“Dear heart!” cried Mrs. Downing, while Isobel, to 
conceal her emotion, hid her face in embracing the little 
girl; “dear heart! what pretty things she do say.” 

“ Suppose we go in the parlor, and have some music,” 
suggested Isobel, desirous of changing the subject. 



After the manner of Sousa." 



9 o 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“ It’s just what I was going to ask,” cried Mrs. Down- 
ing, clapping her hands. “Never since I’ve been in this 
house — and I've been here this eighteen year and more — 
never have I had such lovely evenings. I was born in the 
country, mum, ’ she added, addressing herself to Isobel; 
“ and 1 used to love to be waked up in the early spring 
mornings by the songs of the birds. Ah ! indeed, it’s one of 
the nicest things 1 remember. And when you and the little 
ones get to singing after supper, it’s like enchantment. I 
hear the little birds, and I am a little girl again. And I see 
my mother feeding the chickens in the yard, and my father 
going out with the horses. And I see my brothers and 
sisters — they’re all dead save one sister — God rest their 
souls ! — and I hear them laughing and talking ; but above 
all I hear the pretty birds singing their prettiest right 
among the apples and peach blossoms and it’s all so 
lovely.” 

Philip, Marie and Charlie had not waited to listen to 
this address. They had already danced into the parlor, and 
were busy getting the music for the occasion. 

Charlie, the baby of the family, did not think good, on 
such occasions, to sing along with the others. Now and 
then, indeed, he would contribute for a short phrase or pas- 
sage the music of his voice, always with great complacency, 
as though he realized that his help made di°tinctly for the 
success of that particular measure. But, while he was not 
singing, it should not be inferred that he was idle. O, no ! 
Armed with an ebony baton, once, it was said, the property 
of his father, Master Charlie would beat the time with all 
the airs and graces of Mr. Philip Sousa — whom, by the 


His First and Last Appearance. 91 

way, he had watched closely and admiringly on five several 
occasions. 

When Isobel entered a hot dispute was raging. 

“Were going to sing Bishop’s ‘Hunting Song/” 
asserted Philip. 

“ No, were not,” contradicted Marie. “Were going to 
have ‘Sunrise’ — where you bring in the song of the birds.” 

“You always want to have your own way,” growled 
Phiiip. “ I never saw such a girl as you, Marie.” 

“ I fink we better sing the ‘ Mocker Bird,’ and let 
Philip play he’s a Mocker Bird,” put in the very small boy, 
giving Philip and Marie, with perfect impartiality, a light 
poke in the ribs with his baton. 

“ You just keep out of this, Charlie,” said Marie, loftily. 
“‘Little children should be seen and not heard.’ It isn’t 
right for us to be fussing.” 

“You began the scrapping yourself,” retorted Philip. 

“ I didn't.” 

“ You did.” 

“ Both of you began it,” asserted the small director. 

“ Well, well, dears,” said Isobel gently, but with authority^ 
“ quarreling again ? Marie, you should try to be a lady. 
Ladies do not raise their voices and talk sharply. And, 
besides, you’re the oldest. You must set a good example. 
What’s the trouble ? ” 

Marie explained at length. While she was speaking, one 
of the windows facing on Sycamore Street rattled in the sash. 

“Halloa! what’s that?” exclaimed Philip, running to 
the window. “ O, Isobel,” he cried, jumping back sud- 
denly, “come quick ! There’s a man at the window.” 


92 


His First and Last Appearance. 


Isobel was at his side in an instant, and together they 
peered out into the darkness. 

“Why, Philip, I see nothing.” 

“ Neither do 1 now ,” said the boy. “ But I saw a man’s 
face there just now.” 

“ Are you sure, dear ? ” 

“ Well, I think 1 did ” 

The window through which they were straining their 
eyes looked out upon a tiny lawn which sloped down for a 
length of twelve or fifteen feet to the sidewalk. There was 
no fence, and so, Isobel reflected, it was not improbable that 
some passer-by, attracted by the pretty sound of children’s 
voices, had taken the liberty of looking in. And yet it was 
not an auspicious night for the gratification of people who 
peep. The snow was still falling heavily, and the ground 
was covered by a white coat several inches thick. From 
Grand Avenue — just one square beyond — came occasionally 
the silvery jingle of sleigh-bells — sweet punctuation marks 
which gave agreeable pauses to the snowy silence of the night. 

“Well, Philip, it really doesn’t matter much. Only 1 
hope that if there was a man there he didn’t hear you talk- 
ing rudely to your sister. What would mamma have said, 
if she heard you ? ” 

Philip hung his head. 

“ Let’s sing the song Marie proposed,” he suggested, 
softly. 

“And then, Phil, we can sing yours, too,” added Marie, 
radiantly. 

“ We’ll fing all free,” piped the director. And as he 
said, so was it to be done. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


93 


Mrs. Downing, while all this was going on, had slipped 
into the kitchen and given a hurried message to her maid 
of all work; who, throwing a shawl about her head, went 
out into the night to give notice to some of the neighbors 
that there was to be a strictly private parlor concert, and 
that, provided they made no noise and gave the Lachances 
no hint of their presence, they were welcome to attend. 

Before the first of these invited guests had stolen softly 
into the dining-room — where the lights had been discreetly 
lowered -a pretty tableau was formed in the parlor. 

Isobel took her place at the piano, her stool turned 
somewhat toward the left, where, facing her with a pair of 
spectacles on his little nose, after the manner of Sousa (the 
glasses were plain', stood Charlie, his legs wide apart, the 
baton high in the air and the free hand raised to command 
attention. Charlie was persuaded that the singing would 
come to little or naught without his clever leadership. 
Philip and Marie, their hands behind their backs and stand- 
ing quite erect, awaited with their eyes fastened most respect- 
fully upon the spectacled leader. 

“ Sh-h ! ” he whispered. 

Down came the baton, and forthwith Isobel played the 
lively prelude which introduces Bishop’s “ Hunting Song.’’ 

It was remarkable how accurately the little fellow beat 
the time ; more remarkable still, how each move and gesture 
of his body gave interpretation to the spirit of every phrase. 

A portentous nod with a great flourish of hand and 
baton sent the two children facing him into the melody. 
Philip carried the air, Marie the alto part, while Isobel, as 
she accompanied, filled in with rich and rare low notes. As 


94 


His First and Last Appearance. 


the director of some orchestra is content, for the most part, 
to allow the musicians under him to do the instrumental 
work, but at times, especially in the fortissimo passages, 
takes up his instrument and lends a powerful note to the 
volume of sweet sound, so Charlie, silent, yet inspiring, 
dumb, yet expressive, would now and then, when the 
passages grew stronger, break into a childish treble, and add 
what he certainly considered a new beauty to the rare 
sweetness of the three voices. 

Truly, they were indeed a “ nest of nightingales.” 

“ You directed the song excellently,” said Isobel at 
the end. 

“Didn’t l?” cried the young director, removing his 
glasses, and bowing toward the dining-room to his imaginary 
audience - not quite so imaginary as he supposed. “I’ll 
do better in the next. Philip, when I sut my eyes it’s a 
sign that you sing soft.” 

“All right, Mr. Director,” said Philip, meekly. 

“And Marie, keep still when you sing. Only the 
director moves.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Director.” 

Charlie resumed his glasses, beat with his baton upon 
the piano for attention, and, having satisfied himself that 
all were in position, motioned them into “Sunrise.” 

The nightingales did not follow the score as it stood 
printed. When they came to the part — 

* v Merry, joyous birds. 

Happy, joyous birds. 

Sing their sweetest lay. 

To usher in the day,” 


His First and Last Appearance. 


95 


Philip, abandoning the air to the director, began to trill and 
quaver in his highest register with such art that, despite the 



snow that was falling and the wind that was wailing, the 
listeners were transported to the lands where snow and ice 


9 6 


His First and Last Appearance . 


and all things bleak are unimaginable. For the moment, 
and out of its time, sweet spring had come again. 

The audience within, unable to contain itself when the 
song died away, broke into applause. 

The nightingales were startled, and Isobel jumped from 
her piano-stool, and there is no knowing what interval of 
awkwardness would not have ensued, had not an unex- 
pected diversion wholly changed the situation. 

“ Look !” cried a man, bursting from the dining-room 
and pointing toward the window. 

Quick as thought, Isobel, who was still meditating on 
the previous apparition, turned, and, for the briefest imagin- 
able time, saw a face against the pane. At the moment a 
sleigh was passing the house ; and its lighted lanterns 
brought out the face in bold relief. 

Dark glasses concealed the eyes, a heavy slouch hat 
came down over the forehead, and a fierce mustache and a 
fiercer beard lent to the expression the note of savageness. 
That face would give the painter an ideal anarchist. It 
was gone, vivid just now, then gone completely like a flash 
of light. 

The man who had discovered the apparition reached 
the window a moment later, and throwing up the sash 
leaped out. 

“ Twenty years have I been here,” cried Mrs. Down- 
ing, with clasped hands, “ and never a thief nor a burglar 
came to this house till to-night.” 

“ Did you see the face, Philip? ” asked Isobel, eagerly. 

“ Yes; it was the face 1 saw just a few minutes ago.” 

“ Strange ! ” she murmured. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


97 


“ He looked savage, didn’t he? " pursued Philip. 

“ 1 think, dear, that his eyes were fastened on you 
What a savage-looking man ! ” 

The audience now came forward, and what with thank- 
ing Isobel for the concert, and with assuring her that there 
was nothing to fear, and that music such as they had listened 
to would bring even a Fiji Islander to the window, left the 
girl and the little ones quite brave and resolute after this 
double shock. The man who had given chase returned as 
the company was making its adieux; but he had nothing 
to tell. The owner of the strange face had disappeared, 
and left no trace that could be followed. 

However, the adventures of that night were not yet 
ended. The little ones had just given Isobel the good- 
night kiss, and were on their way up the staircase, when the 
door bell rang out loudly. 

Philip, Marie and Charlie, the latter of whom had been 
rubbing his eyes for the last quarter of an hour, became at 
once very wide awake, and paused on the stairs to see the 
outcome of the noisy ring. 

Mrs. Downing opened the door. A small boy with a 
very white coat and a very red nose — the one color caused 
by the snow, the other by the cold — handed her a package. 

“For Mister Philip Laplante — no charges, paid," he 
said, quickly, and tore down the steps. 

“For me?" cried Philip, leaping down the stairway, 
three steps at a time. “ What is it ? " 

Isobel handed the package to her brother. 

“Suppose you open it yourself, dear. ’ 

How nice Isobel could be ! 


98 


His First and Last Appearance . 


Philip made short work of the wrappings. 

“ Hurrah !” he said. “It’s an overcoat. Say, Isobel, 
mayn’t I go out, and try how it feels ? ” 

“ Suppose, dear, you try it on where you are.’’ 

Isobel assisted him into the coat, which, as it happened, 
fitted him perfectly, wondering the while who could have 
sent it. 

As Philip turned to contemplate himself in the hat-rack 
mirror, Isobel noticed an envelope protruding from the 
upper left hand pocket. 

“ Philip,” she said, “perhaps that letter in your pocket 
will tell you something.” 

The boy pulled out the letter, and scanned the super- 
scription. 

“It’s got my name on it,” he said. “‘Philip Lachance’ 
—and, Isobel, what’s that word in the corner that begins 
with an C A’ ? ” 

Isobel took the letter and read : 

“ Master Philip Lachance. 

“ Addressed.” 

“ Shall I open it, dear, and read it to you ? ” continued 
Isobel. 

“Please, yes, Isobel.” 

“Why !” she exclaimed. “ Here’s Mr. Dunne again ! 
This letter is signed by Mr. John Dunne ! ” 

“ O, goodie ! ” cried Marie, who had already taken Mr. 
Dunne on faith. 

“Are you listening, children ? ” 

There could be no doubt as to the purport of their 
answer. 


His First and Last Appearance . 99 

“Well, here’s the letter: 

“ £ My Dear Philip: I trust that your good sister 
Isobel will not think me impertinent in taking the liberty 
of sending you an overcoat. I want to give you a little 
gift in payment for the song you sang. No number of coats 
could repay you for all you did for me. That song of yours 
brought Christmas home to me as it never came home to 
me since I was a young man of twenty-one. It gave me an 
ideal That idea, I hope, will make the coming Christmas 
for me and my friends one of the brightest, best and holiest 
we have ever celebrated. 

“ c Just after leaving you, a telegram called upon me to 
leave Milwaukee to-night on business which will keep me 
from the city for several days. 1 regret sincerely that I 
cannot call on your sister. If I could speak to her and 
show — not tell her— how I felt about that Christmas song, 
I know she would not be hurt at what on the face of it 
seems to be a bit of boldness. I hope to be allowed to see 
you and Miss Isobel on my return; and to be permitted 
at a day that is not, I trust, far off, to sign myself gratefully, 
Your friend, John Dunne.”’ 

“ May I keep the coat, Isobel? ” 

“ It would be churlish to refuse it, Philip, in the light 
of that letter.’’ 

“ Hurrah ! ” 'shrilled the soprano. 

While Marie and Charlie — now perfectly wide awake — 
were admiring Philip, who strutted proud as a peacock up 
and down with his head very high and his chest thrust out 
— there came another ring of the bell. 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried Mrs. Downing, who had con- 


L*c. 


ioo His First and Last Appearance. 

fined herself to interjections the past hour. “ What’s going 
to happen next?” and she threw open the door. 

This time it was a man who confronted her. 

“An overcoat for Mr. Philip Lachance — there are no 
charges.” 

“Hold on!” cried Isobel, darting forward. “Please 
tell me whom it’s from and who ordered it.” 

“ It’s from Browning, King & Company. I was ordered 
to say that the sender wanted his name kept secret.” 

As the door closed upon the man, Isobel and Mrs. 
Downing looked at each other in speechless amazement. 

“ Well, I never! ” gasped the elderly woman. “ There’s 
been more queer things happening here to-night than I can 
understand. There’s that man who frightened you at the 
window — and Philip says he was there before. And then 
there’s one overcoat that we can account for ; and then 
there’s another overcoat that we can’t account for. Why, 
it’s all surprises ! ” 

“ Mrs. Downing,” said Isobel, in tones so low that the 
children could not hear her, “ I am beginning to get afraid. 
There must be something wrong. Be sure to lock every- 
thing to-night. O, I wish I were braver! ” 

“ Sure, you’re as brave a girl as ever I saw ; but you are 
nervous, my dear. There’s no need to be frightened. Take 
a good sleep to-night, and to-morrow mbrning you will 
laugh at yourself for the way you feel now.” 

Philip, having taken off Mr. Dunne’s overcoat and put 
on the second, now presented himself to be admired. 

“ It’s a nice one, too,” he remarked. 

“ Which do you want, dear? ” 


His First and Last Appearance . ioi 

Philip removed his latest outer garment, and having 
examined it from every point of view, laid it aside. Then 
he returned to his first love. 

“ It’s a nice one, too. Say, I’d like to go out and try it.” 

£C Which do you want, dear?” 

“Look!” he said, taking it off and turning the inside 
toward his sister. <c See that blue flag? ” 

“ Yes, dear.” 

cc What is that reading under it ? ” 

“The Sign of the Blue Flag.” 

“ That’s the coat for me; it comes from Mr. Dunne, 
and is the color of the Blessed Virgin.” 

Isobel but a moment before had been strangely appre- 
hensive for the boy , but now she plucked up fresh heart 
of grace. 

“The Blessed Mother,” she thought, ££ will not suffer 
her little child to fall into any real danger.” 


lOl 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER X. 

isobel’s hour of desolation. 

D URING the night Isobel slept but little. The face at 
the window, the strange, wild, troubled face, with the 
eyes fixed apparently upon Philip, haunted her. Then, 
what could be the meaning of that second overcoat? The 
first was accounted for ; but in the whole city of Milwaukee 
who could there be sufficiently interested in her little Philip 
to order him a coat from Browning, King & Company ? 
And why should the donor be at the pains of keeping him- 
self anonymous? For the first time in her life Isobel 
experienced an uneasiness, a fear of the mysterious 
unknown. It was not for herself she was anxious, but for 
Philip. 

Repeatedly did she go back over all the incidents of the 
earlier part of the afternoon, trying to fit them together, 
and to piece out their connection with the mysterious 
apparition at the window, and the no less mysterious gift of 
the overcoat. 

Philip’s singing had attracted a crowd. Out of that 
crowd, one was accounted for — Mr. John Dunne. Could 
he who appeared at the window have been a member of 
that improvised audience also? And if so, what did he 
want? Could the face at the window have had any con- 
nection with the sending of the second overcoat? Think 
and puzzle as she might, Isobel found no answer to these 
questions. 



“ Philip was lying quite still." 

her as it had not before, that she was a poor defenceless 
girl, alone, in a strange city, with no one to give her counsel, 
with no one to help and protect her in the hour of need. 


His First and Last Appearance . 103 


But of one thing she felt sure — not through any process 
of reasoning, it was rather an intuition — she felt sure that 
Philip was being watched. And with this, it came home to 


104 His First and Last Appearance. 

She began to reproach herself for having left New York, 
where she was known and loved. It was borne in upon 
her in the silent watches of that long, long night, that she 
had done a foolish thing. Some danger — the more to be 
dreaded that it was unknown — was hovering near ; poverty 
was coming on apace. O, to be back in New York! O, 
to be near Professor Himmelstein ! She had nearly broken 
the old man’s heart. In her pride, she had refused to 
listen to him. And now he was gone, perhaps forever. 
Between him and her lay a great dividing water. Yes, of 
deliberate purpose, she had cut the children away from their 
truest, loyalest friend. 

A keen homesickness, a great loneliness, a bitter agony 
swept over the soul of Isobel. Perhaps Philip was even 
now in danger? She hurried noiselessly into his room — 
dreading almost to look toward his bed, lest she should 
find it empty. She gave a little gasp of relief when she 
found her fears belied. Philip was lying quite still and 
serene, breathing softly, his little arms outspread over the 
coverlet. 

The room was quite cool, and Isobel gently covered his 
hands and arms. How she loved her little brother ! The 
thought of impending danger weighed heavily upon her 
heart. She was in an agony. In moments of desolation 
we become our severest critics. We give ourselves no 
quarter. Isobel had come to such a moment. She felt, 
as she bent over her little Philip, that from the day of her 
mother’s illness to the present hour, all her actions had 
been ill-considered and foolish. Trouble, difficulty, dis- 
aster were now impending. The thorns were pressing 


His First and Last Appearance. 105 

about her brows, thorns which she herself had platted. In 
that moment of bitterness the poor girl was tempted to 
wish that it was all over, that life with its dangers and trials 
were swallowed up in death. It was a moment of weak*- 
ness; and she at once recognized it as such. She tried to 
struggle, but feeling and nature fought stubbornly. In the 
heart of the conflict,' her eyes fell upon Philip. Then, at 
once, another wave rushed over her soul — the wave of 
sisterly love; she stooped and imprinted a fervent kiss 
upon the brow of the sleeping child. 

Philip moved uneasily, shifted his position, gave a little 
hem, as though to clear his throat, then he sang forth 
sweetly, clearly : 

“Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices.” 

And lsobel fell upon her knees, and prayed fervently. 
It was, indeed, as though she had heard angel voices ; for 
fear and doubt had gone, and the peace of God had returned 
to her and filled her soul with faith and confidence and trust. 

Dawn was breaking before she arose from her knees. 
She had passed a sleepless night, but she had no regrets 
for the loss ; for again she had heard the angels calling, and 
their message was “ too pure for the touch of a word.” 


io 6 


His Fir:t and Last Appearance. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A MORNING WALK WITH SURPRISING RESULTS, WHICH, AS 
THE READER SHALL PRESENTLY LEARN, HAVE MUCH TO 
DO WITH THE FATES AND FORTUNES OF THE LACHANCES. 

A T breakfast on the following morning Isobel showed 
the effects of her vigil. She looked paler than 
usual and there was a weariness in her eyes. During the 
meal, she devoted herself to caring for the wants of Philip, 
Marie, and Charlie. They failed to notice that beyond a 
cup of coffee and a cracker she took nothing herself. 

“Isobel, what are you going to do this morning?” 
asked Philip, as he arose from the table. 

“ I haven’t quite made up my mind, dear. Suppose 
we take a walk as far as the Gesu, and hear Mass?” 

“ And after that, will you go for a walk on Grand 
Avenue ? ” asked the boy eagerly. 

Isobel hesitated before answering. She felt very weak 
and tired, and the prospect of a walk was anything but 
inviting. Had she consulted her own feelings, she would 
have said no at once. But she had regard to the boy’s 
eager face and bright eyes. 

“I can wear my new overcoat, you know,” persisted 
Philip. 

“Yes, Isobel, do go,” put in Marie, who, with all the 
airs of a matron, was filling a cup of coffee for the youngest 
member of the family. “ I think it will do you good, 
Isobel. You don’t look well: Mrs. Downing just told me 


107 


His First and Last Appearance . 

that she was afraid you were going to be ill. Charlie and 
I can keep house — can’t we, Charlie ? ” 

“ You bet we tan.” 

“And you’ll promise to be good, Charlie?” asked 
Isobel. 

“ Tross my heart. I’ll do just what Marie says.” 

“Very well, then ! Philip, get your overcoat.” 

It was a bright morning. The air was clear and cold; 
and the sun shining upon the newly fallen snow dotted the 
white streets with millions of diamond points. Philip rev- 
eled in the snow and the sunshine. He was supposed to 
walk with Isobel. As a matter of fact, in the joy of health 
and spirits and a bracing atmosphere, he ran forward and 
backward and all around her. 

“ Now, Philip, give me your hand,” called Isobel, as 
they drew near the magnificent church. “ Don’t forget, my 
dear, to pray hard during the Mass for my intention. I 
need prayers very much.” 

“You need prayers!” echoed the boy incredulously. 
“What do you need prayers for? You’re good, Isobel; 
and it isn’t the good that need prayers, but the bad people, 
and people in trouble. You’re not in any trouble, are 
you ? ” 

Isobel smiled. The boy failed to notice how wan her 
face had become. 

“ Pray for me anyhow, Philip,” she said. “ I am not 
in trouble now, dear ; but I am afraid that it may come.” 

They entered the church, just as the priest, vested for 
Mass, came out from the sacristy. The girl knelt during 
the entire -service. Philip watched her, first curiously, then 


io8 


His First and Last Appearance . 


with a feeling of uneasiness. He noticed that her face was 
sad and troubled. How earnestly she prayed ! With her 
eyes turned upon the altar, she made not the slightest 
motion, moved neither head nor hand till all was over. 

“ If Isobel isn’t a saint,” commented Philip to himself, 
“ then I give up.” 

“ What were you praying for, Isobel?” he asked, as 
they left the church. 

“ For you, dear, and Marie and Charlie.” 

“You didn’t look very well, Isobel. I was watching 


you. 

“But now, Phil, I feel much better; I always feel 
better after hearing Mass. Now, which way shall we go ? ” 

. “ Go ? Why, away out on Grand Avenue,” cried the 
boy, with dancing eyes, and making the widest of gestures 
with his arms. 

“Very well, dear. Perhaps we had better not go far. 
I feel tired, though I have done nothing to make me feel 
that way.” 

“You’re walking slow, Isobel,” the boy said a moment 
later, as they passed Twelfth Street. 

“ Am I ? Perhaps you are walking fast, dear.” And 
Isobel quickened her steps. 

The morning was still young, and Grand Avenue was 
not yet bright and gay with its long double line of sleigh- 
ing parties, which, on a winter’s afternoon when snow is 
plentiful, make it a scene of life and splendor such as no 
^one fortunate enough to witness it shall ever forget. But 
the Avenue was not deserted. Snow birds were hopping 
and reveling about the streets with the air of proprietors. 


His First and Last Appearance. 109 

Men and youngsters were shoveling snow from the side- 
walks, and little boys and girls were making their way 
to school, if not unwillingly, certainly at the slowest of 
rates. An occasional ball flew through the air, and gay 
laughter, the laughter of silvery trebles, rippled and played 
till it was taken up by the jingling music of some passing 
sleigh. 

“ O look ! ” cried Philip, as they neared Thirteenth 
Street, “ here come two Sisters.” 

Slowly and modestly the two figures in black robes and 
veils were coming toward our two friends. Isobel raised 
her eyes, and, at the very first glance, her heart, she knew 
not why, leaped. She was fascinated. Never for a moment 
as they advanced toward her did she take her eyes away 
from the two Sisters. 

As they drew near, .Isobel had an opportunity of study- 
ing their appearance. One of them was very young. Her 
face gave the impression of a girl masquerading as a Nun. 
Her eyes, it is true, were cast down, not to be seen ; her 
modesty was fairly faultless. But, for all that, no veiling 
of eyes and folding of hands could take from her regular 
features an expression of fun and mischief. Any one could 
see that the expression of perfect gravity now on her features 
would on the least provocation melt away in smiles and 
laughter. 

The other Sister, though a trifle older, had a girlish 
appearance too. Certain years of her life had failed to tax 
the lines of her face, and though more serious, she looked 
as young as her companion. Her countenance was very 
grave and sweet. She looked like one who had suffered 


no His First and Last Appearance . 

and would suffer much because her feelings were tender to 
an exquisite excess. 

Their eyes, when not cast down, wandered neither to 
right nor to left. They appeared to see nothing; though, 
truth compels me to state, very little escaped the sharp • 
attention of the younger of the two. 

“ Look at that little boy and the girl, Sister Mary 
Agnes,” she said to the other. “ They are a fine pair. I 
dare say that girl is very refined. I wonder who they are? 
One thing is sure, they are Catholics, and they have just 
come from church. ’ 

“ Mind-reading again, Sister Mary Cecilia,” commented 
the other with a little smile. “ How do you know they 
have just been to church*? Surely, you 'did not see them 
coming out; and it’s not written on their foreheads.” 

“ No ; it is not written on their foreheads, Sister; but it 
is written on the knees of the young gentleman’s knicker- 
bockers. He has been kneeling, and he doesn’t care who 
knows it. Sister, Sister, why don’t you look at that girl ? 
What a tragic face she has ! Do you know, I like her face. 
She looks so sad, though, poor thing; and her color is 
very poor, and her eyes are tired. If she were going to our 
Academy, I’d have her laughing all the time.” 

“The boy doesn’t look troubled, though,” Sister Mary 
Agnes observed. “He has such a joyous, friendly, open 
little face. 1 like that kind of expression. People with eyes 
full and open and friendly like his are incapable of telling 
a lie. He would do very well for our class of little boys.” 

“ 1 take no interest in boys, ’ said sister Mary Cecelia, 
making the remark in tones so sweet and gracious as to 


His First and Last Appearance . hi 

deprive her words of all meaning. “If he did come, I’d 
soon tease him out of his air of serenity. Little boys are 
always so perfectly satisfied with themselves.” 

“ Notice how intently the girl is looking at us : ” whis- 
pered Sister Mary Agnes. 

Isobel and Philip were now within a few paces of the 
nuns. The girl’s eyes were fixed respectfully, modestly, 
and with some hidden meaning upon the face of Sister 
Mary Agnes. Her lips were parted slightly as though she 
would speak, and the weariness in her eyes had suddenly 
given place to a singular look of inquiry. In a word, 
Isobel’s face spoke, though the message was enigmatic. 
Sister Mary Agnes raised her eyes, and was awaiting mo- 
mentarily for the words which were to come. But Isobel 
closed her lips and contented herself with bowing her head, 
while Philip, smiling largely, took off his hat with a great 
flourish ; in answer to which salutations, the Sisters bowed 
and passed on. 

“ I wish I had a bit of candy with me,” remarked Sister 
Mary Cecelia, with pleasant visions of the mighty hat 
flourish and the far-spreading smile. “ I hate to pass a nice 
Catholic little boy without making him feel that it’s worth 
while meeting a Sister of Charity of the Blessed Virgin 
Mary.” She gave the full title of her Sisterhood with 
much unction. 

“ Dear, dear ! ” cried the other in a gentle plaint. “ I 
wish I had spoken to that girl. She looked at us so wist- 
fully. I’m sure she wanted to speak to us and that her 
courage failed her. Poor child ! Even though she didn’t 
say one word, my heart bled for her. Sister Mary Cecelia, 


1 1 2 His First and Last Appearance. 

don’t you think we ought to turn back and speak to her ? 
She looked so sick and worn. Tell me. Sister, what shall 
we do ? ” 

“ She did look sick. Her face was like the snow. But 
you are the superioress. If I were in your place — ” 

“ And I wish you were,” interpolated the other. 

“I would go back and ask her whether we could do 
anything for her, or something of the sort.” 

“ Dear, dear! 1 wish we could give her something! ” 
said the superioress. “The only time I feel the vow of 
poverty and its effects is when I see people in distress. 
Well, Sister, suppose — ” 

She stopped suddenly. A clear shriek cut the air — 
a shriek of terror. They turned at once and beheld a 
strange tableau. 

At the southeast corner of Fourteenth and Grand 
Avenue, Isobel lay prostrate on the sidewalk. Philip had 
fallen upon his knees beside her, and while wringing his 
hands was weeping bitterly. Just behind the two stood a 
a man, with black spectacles, a heavy beard, and a slouch 
hat drawn over his forehead. His face was working con- 
vulsively, and he was motioning frantically to the Sisters to 
come to the girl’s aid. On their moving forward hastily, the 
man turned and ran down Fifteenth Street as though he had 
committed some crime. Bestowing no attention on the 
strange man, Sister Mary Agnes hurried to the side of the 
girl, who lay with her face, snow upon snow, turned to the 
December sky. Placing the wan, beautiful head in the hol- 
low of her arm, she loosened the collar with the help of 
Sister Mary Cecelia. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


1 ! 3 



“ The Sisters come to IsobeT s assistance 




His First and Last Appearance. 


114 


“Is she dead? ’ wailed Philip, whose face, from its 
expression of perfect contentment, had grown very tender 
and fearful. Love and terror were writ upon every 
lineament. 

“ Did that man say anything to this girl ? ” asked Sister 
Cecelia, catching the boy’s hand. 

“ What man ? ” Philip ceased weeping and stared about 
in every direction. 

“ Didn’t you see him ? When we turned there was a 
man standing behind you two, with a great rough beard, 
and a big-brimmed hat. ’ 

“Was he here? No; we didn’t see him now, but I 
guess he’s the man we saw last night at our window. My 
sister Isobel just fell over after you passed us without say- 
ing a word. ’ 

“ Sister Cecelia, help me lift her up,” said the superior- 
ess. “And, little boy, run across the street to that corner. 
There’s a young man coming with a sleigh. Ask him to 
come across.” 

Before Philip could execute his message, the driver of 
the sleigh, seeing what had happened, drove briskly across 
the street. 

“Sisters, can I do anything?” he said, lifting his hat. 

“Yes, sir,” said Sister Mary Agnes. “If you please, 
bring this girl around to Twelfth and Cedar - the Holy 
Angels’ Academy. I will go with you, and Sister Cecelia 
will walk there with the boy.” 

Before a crowd could gather, Isobel was helped into the 
sleigh, and whirled rapidly to the Academy, which, fortu- 
nately, was distant but a few squares. 


His First and Last Appearance. 1 1 5 

When Isobel came to herself, she was lying on an 
improvised lounge in the Academy parlor. It was a fine 
room, but very plainly furnished. At the moment, how- 
ever, Isobel took no note of its appointments. Her eyes 
rested on th'e face that was bending over her with an 
expression at once tender and anxious. It was the face 
which had so fascinated her, the face of the superioress. 

“ Is it a dream? ” she asked languidly. 

“ No, my dear ; you fainted on the street, and I had you 
brought here.” 

Isobel rose quickly to a sitting posture with alarm on 
her countenance. 

“Philip! where is Philip?” Even as she spoke she 
fell back again exhausted. 

“ Don't be alarmed, my dear. He is on his way here 
now with the Sister who was walking with me.” 

“Thank God! ” sighed the girl, the alarm leaving her 
face at once. Another Sister entered just then with a bowl 
of beef-tea. 

“Now, my dear,” said the superioress, “do as 1 bid 
you : drink this.” 

“ How kind you are, Sister. Thank you so much.” 

“ Not at all. I thank God who sent you in my way. 
I hope to do more for you, if you will let me. I was so 
sorry that I did not speak to you when 1 met you on the 
street. 1 felt sure that you wished to say something to me.” 

“ I did, Sister; I felt so ill and wretched, and I was so 
troubled about the future. And then I saw you and the 
other Sister coming, and you looked like old friends to me. 
When you came nearer, 1 saw your faces, and there was no 


1 1 6 His First and Last Appearance . 

trouble and no care upon them. O Sister, how happy you 
did look ! Do you always look so happy, Sister? ” 

“No, dear, not always; because sometimes I forget to 
be grateful to God for all His goodness. But that is the 
way I should look all the time.” 

“ Well, Sister, I felt in your presence then as though 
we had been friends for years, and I did so want to speak 
to you.” 

“ My name, my dear, in religion is Sister Mary Agnes,” 

“And I am lsobel Lachance.” 

The door-bell rang. 

“ Excuse me one moment ; 1 think that must be your 
brother.” And the good Sister left the room. 

lsobel lay back and closed her eyes. Consolation had 
come again, suddenly, unexpectedly. Her heart had 
warmed at once to Sister Mary Agnes and to Sister Mary 
Cecilia. On meeting them, she felt that here were the 
Sisters after her own heart. It was a case of love at first 
sight. Again, in the one delicious moment, before she fell 
unconscious to the ground, again, she had heard the angel 
voices calling. 

She opened her eyes, and gazed about the room. 

“ It looks to me like home,” she murmured. 

At that moment, Philip, accompanied by the two Sisters, 
entered. Down, with a suddenness that was startling, 
crumbled her vision. Not for her the convent walls, the 
prayers, the daily round of great heroism in little things, 
not for her the consecrated life which is more than poet s 
dream. The care of Philip, of Marie and of Charlie was 
her vocation. 


His First and Last Appearance . 117 

When ten minutes later they were leaving, Isobel paused 
at the door. Somehow she could not let go of the gentle 
hand clasped so warmly in her own. 

“ Sister Mary Agnes, I feel like the peri at the gate of 
heaven. 1 have looked within, and seen the light and the 
glory; but I must stay without. It is not for me. Good- 
by, good-by.” 

“ Don’t forget us, Isobel,” said the Sister, in a voice 
strangely soft and with a gentle pressure. She understood 
Isobel’s story by intuition. 

“ Forget ! That is impossible. I almost wish I could.” 


1 18 


His First and Last Appearance. 


CHAPTER XII. 


IN WHICH SOME VERY PLEASANT CHARACTERS MAKE THEIR 
APPEARANCE, AND THE DAY, BEGUN SO SADLY, IS 
USHERED OUT TO THE MERRY JINGLE OF SLEIGH- 
BELLS AND THE HAPPY LAUGHTER OF JOYOUS YOUTH. 

HE cause of Isobel’s fainting on Grand Avenue is not 



A far to seek. The burden of responsibility, laid so 
suddenly upon her shoulders, had borne down upon her 
too heavily. After all, she was but a girl, and previously 
to the time of her mother’s fatal illness, she had, while 
facing the sordid cares of life, some one to lean upon. 
When the burden became too great then, she could shift it 
to other and stronger shoulders. But now it was so dif- 
ferent ! No wonder that the girl faltered and staggered, 
no wonder that her nights were sleepless and her days were 
gray ; black care had planted his standard in her heart. 
Thus far her only consolation she had found in her religion. 
Prayer had given her strength ; but it had not and could 
not give her the wisdom which comes with many years and 
with much experience. She needed a friend. She needed 
a director ; and it was the want of such a guide and coun- 
sellor that strained her anxiety, at this time, almost to the 
snapping point. 

Isobel was by nature of a reticent disposition. She * 
found difficulty in unbosoming herself even to those whom 
she knew and loved. It was “ the grief that does not 


His First and Last Appearance . 119 

speak” which, together with watching and fasting, had been 
the cause of her fainting on Grand Avenue. 

“ Isobel,” said Philip early that afternoon, “ I believe 
that man was following us.” 

<c What man, Philip ? ” asked the girl anxiously. 

She was leaning back in an easy chair, a little touch of 
color in her face, but still looking very weak and worn. 



“ The coming Sousa amuses himself *.’* 

“ Why, the man we saw at the window last night.” 

“ Did you see him again, Philip ? ” cried the girl, sitting 
upright and going suddenly pale. 

“No, I didn’t; but the Sisters did. When you fell on 
the street, he came up behind us ; and then, when the 


120 His First and Last Appearance. 

Sisters turned round, he made gestures for them to come to 
your help, and then he ran away.” 

“ But how do they know it was that man ? ” 

“ O, they don’t know ; but they told me about his dark 
glasses, and the beard and the slouch hat. Perhaps he’s an 
Italian brigand. Do you think he’s a brigand, Isobel?” 

“ I don’t know what to think, my dear. Philip, would 
you like to go back to New York ? ” 

“ I’m willing,” answered the boy indifferently. 

“ Here’s a letter for you, miss,” announced Mrs. Down- 
ing, appearing at the open door. 

“Hurrah!” cried the boy, running to get it; “and,” 
he added, as he glanced at the postmark, “ it’s from New 
York. Here, Isobel, read it quick, and tell us what’s the 
news from home. Marie! Charlie!’’ he piped, running 
into the hallway, “come up quick. There’s a letter from 
New York ! 

While Philip was thus holding forth, and while, with 
screams and other manifestations of delight, Marie and 
Charlie came tripping up the stairs, Isobel had opened the 
envelope, and was eagerly reading its contents. 

“ It’s from Sister Juliana, my dears,” she said. “ Excuse 
me one moment till I read it.” 

Amidst much dumb show on the part of the children? 
Isobel, read the following : 

“St. Helena’s Academy, New York, 
December 16, 189 — . 

“My Dearest Isobel : — Busy as I am with the cares 
of a great school and a sufficiently large community, I can 
not, can not banish from my memory my dear little girl 


His First and Last Appearance . ill 

alone in a strange city. £ Little girl ’ do I say? Ah, my 
dear Isobel, though you are grown quite tall, and become 
quite womanly, I see you ever as the little one whom I 
prepared for her first holy communion — a little girl with 
bright, eager eyes, a little girl who worked so hard to pre- 
pare worthily for the first coming into her heart of the 
loving Master, and who could never be satisfied to think 
that she had done anything like half enough. When you 
made your first holy communion, dear, I watched you, and 
even as I watched I felt that God had some special designs 
in your regard. 1 have never changed in my opinion, and 
I doubt not that in His own wonderful way God will order 
all things for your good. ‘To them that love God all 
things work together unto good.’ 

“And now, dear Isobel, thinking of you — night and 
day — thinking of my dear little first communion girl, I feel 
instinctively that your days of suffering and trial are upon 
you. Knowing your tender heart, knowing, in a measure 
at least, your fine and delicate conscience, understanding 
your present condition, I am sure that you are more lonely, 
more distressed, more desolate than you care to admit. 

“Well, my dear, take the advice of an old Sister who 
loves you very much. If thus far you have found no 
work that would make it worth your while remaining in 
Milwaukee, then please, please, return at once to New 
York. 

“ You have obeyed your mother’s last request : you 
have gone to Milwaukee, as she directed. But she did not 
tell you to stay in Milwaukee. God will reward you for 
your obedience in going thither. You have obeyed. But 


122 His First and, Last Appearance. 

will God be pleased with your staying? You owe it to 
dear little Philip and Marie and Charlie to be prudent. 
Now, if you return to New York, I have still a place open 
for you — ten pupils, at least. 

“ If you are short of money, my dear, telegraph me for 
what you want; you can repay the money at your leisure. 
Be assured that a warm welcome awaits you and yours. We 
are all praying for you ; and some of us are praying in par- 
ticular that you may soon be with us again. 

“ Poor Professor Himmelstein came to see us the day 
before he took the steamer for Germany. He talked of 
nothing but Philip. The old man was very dejected and 
noticeably absent-minded. He says he does not know 
whether he shall ever return or not. 

“ My dear, if you want to gladden very much an old 
nun’s heart, send me word that you are coming. I wish to 
see once more your face, and clasp your dear hand and hear 
your voice ringing in my ears before I sing my nunc dimittis. 
I do not say anything about Christmas, because I hope to 
see you face to face very soon. 

cc Yours with much love, 

“Sister Juliana.” 

“It’s good news! I know it! ” said Marie, as Isobel 
laid the letter on the table beside her. She had been watch- 
ing Isobel’s face during the reading, and had noticed rich 
waves of red passing over the transparency of the cheeks, 
and a returning brightness in the half-closed eyes. 

“ Well, my dears, are you all ready to go back to New 
York ? ” 

“ I am,” said Philip. 


His First and Last Appearance. 123 

cc I'll be glad to go wherever you go,” added Marie, 
nestling up to her sister. 

“ I want to do back. Dis place isn’t big enough for 
me,” said the youthful musical director. 

“Well, then, we shall start for New York to-morrow 
afternoon.” 

Charlie at once got a chair and proceeded to play “choo- 
choo.” The eyes of Marie shone with delight. Philip 
was pleased, but not particularly demonstrative. 

“Wasn’t it a waste of money to come here?” asked 
Marie. 

“ I think not, Marie. We did it for the sake of our 
dear mother. We are not wasteful when we are obedient.” 

“ There’s a girl to see you in the parlor, Miss Isobel,” 
said Mrs. Downing, looking in at the door. 

She waited till Isobel came out; then added in a low 
voice: 

“It’s Miss Jennie Hume; she’s a Holy Angels’ girl, 
and her father is one of the leading Catholics of the city.” 

On entering the parlor, Isobel found herself facing a girl 
full grown, but somewhat below the middle size. She had 
a healthy, somewhat ruddy complexion, and very pleasing 
hazel eyes. Her expression was singularly open and cordial. 

“ Please don’t think me impertinent, Miss Lachance,” 
she began, with an engaging smile. “ Sister Mary Agnes 
was telling me about you, and how you were a stranger in 
the city. My name is Jennie Hume.” 

“ Indeed, it is very kind of you to come and see me,” 
said Isobel, taking her hand. “ Please call me Isobel, and 
I’ll call you Jennie. Sit down, Jennie.” 


114 Hts First and Last Appearance. 

“You see,” continued the girl, “Sister Mary Agnes has 
taken a great liking to you ; and I always like any one that 
Sister Mary Agnes likes. If you had heard her talking 
about you, Isobel, your ears would have burned.” 

“ I’m so glad she likes me,” said Isobel with genuine 
enthusiasm. “ When I saw her, I felt that I was meeting 
an old friend. What a lovely life she leads ! ” 

“ How do you know that? ” 

“ O, it’s written on her face.” 

“ She is just lovely,” admitted the visitor, “ but I don’t 
see anything very lovely in her life. Ugh ! to live in a 
sort of prison all the time - to get up early and go to bed 
early ! I love Sister Mary Agnes, but I do not like her 
life.” 

“‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a 
cage,’ ” quoted Isobel, smiling. 

“ I suppose it’s all a matter of vocation,” said Jennie. 

“No doubt. After all, it’s only the yoke of Christ, 
and that yoke is sweet, and that burden light.” 

“ I wish I was more religious,” sighed the girl. Almost 
at once she broke into a radiant smile. “Anyhow, my 
brother is. He's as good as any boy could be — I mean, 
my older brother. My younger brother is outside in the 
sleigh.” 

“ But it’s cold ; hadn’t we better bring him in ? ” 

“ O, please don’t think of such a thing. He is bashful 
to a fault ; and not only regards girls as evils, but even 
thinks they are entirely unnecessary. He’s only twelve, 
though, and will doubtless change his mind. I know a 
good many boys that have.” 


I2 5 


His First and Last Appearance. 



Three little girls from school. 



126 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“Your converts, I suppose,’’ said Isobel, with the first 
gleam of mirth in her eye. 

The two girls were still laughing when Mrs. Downing 
ushered into the room another visitor. 

“Why, Sophie!” cried Jennie. “This is a surprise. 
It’s jolly of you to have come. Isobel, this is Sophie 
Quinlan, a classmate of mine.” 

“ I must begin by apologizing to you,” Sophie began. 

“ No, you needn’t,” broke in Jennie; “or you’ll make 
the same speech I made. Isobel knows why you’ve come. 
She’s a friend of Sister Agnes’s, and Sister Agnes’s friends 
are yours.” 

Sophie was taller than Jennie. She had a fine oval face, 
shaded by a mass of rich golden hair. Her brothers dis- 
dainfully called it red; but small boys have no poetry in 
their souls. 

“H ow nice of you to visit me. I feel half sorry ^ now, 
that I’m going back to New York.” 

“ What!” cried the two in chorus, and glancing at each 
other with evident disappointment. 

“ Yes ; we go to-morrow.” 

“ It’s too bad,” said Jennie. I had been studying out 
how to give you a nice time.” 

“So was I,” said Sophie. 

“ O, that could hardly be in any case,” said Isobel. 
“You are girls going to school, and 1 

“ But we are to be graduated this year,” objected Jennie. 

“Even so; I must work for a living.” 

“Yes, but you needn’t work all the time,” argued 
Sophie. “ Perhaps it would be a good thing for me if I 


His First and Last Appearance. 117 

had to work for a living myself. As it is, I neither work 
nor pray.” 

“She goes to Mass every morning,” whispered Jennie 
in Isobel s ear. 

At this moment there came the sound of voices from 
the hall. 

“ My name is Philip,” they heard as they paused in- 
stinctively to listen, “ Philip Lachance.” 

Jennie gave a little gasp and a perceptible start. 

“ I’ve heard that voice before.” she said. 

“My sister’s name,” continued the same voice, “is 
Isobel; and she’s the nicest girl I ever saw; and I lived in 
New York, where there’s no end of girls; come right in, 
Miss Ronayne, and I’ll introduce you.” 

“Good lands!” exclaimed Sophie, “if it isn’t Edna 
Ronayne. ’ 

And Edna Ronayne it was, a girl of seventeen, tall and 
stately, and quite at home with Master Philip, who led her 
by the hand into the room. 

While this .third visitor was being introduced, Jennie 
was staring hard at Philip. 

“ You needn’t introduce yourself, Philip,” she said, 
coming forward with signs of embarrassment, which puzzled 
her friends; for Jennie and embarrassment were seldom 
found together. “ I’ve met you before, and I’m very, very 
glad to meet you again.” 

“ Where did you meet me ? ” 

“ < Fall on your knees ! Oh, hear the angel voices, * ” 
she quoted. 


128 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“What! did you hear him singing, Jennie, when he was 
downtown yesterday?” asked Isobel. 

“ I did, Isobel, and I actually felt like falling on my 
knees. But I didn’t.” 

“ Do you know Mr. Dunne? ” asked Philip. 

“ Very well ; he’s a great friend of our family,’’ answered 
Jennie. 

“ He’s my uncle ! ” said Edna, “and one of the nicest 
men in town.” 

“ There was some one slipped a dollar in my pocket 
while I was singing,” continued Philip. “Did you see any 
one doing it, ma’am?” and he looked full at Jennie. 

Jennie s face was on fire in an instant. 

“That’s a fact,” she said hurriedly, turning to Isobel. 
“ I almost forgot. The afternoon is slipping away, and I 
was forgetting what I came for. Isobel, won’t you please 
do me a favor?” 

“Why, certainly, Jennie, if I can.” 

“My brother’s out there with our sleigh; won’t you come 
out for a sleigh-ride, please; you and the children? You 
must see something of Milwaukee before you leave town.” 

“Why, Jennie,” put in Sophie, “thats just what 1 
came to ask her. Both my brothers are out there, and 
two brothers are more troublesome — 1 mean better than one.” 

“ Three hearts with but a single thought,” said Edna. 
“ We’ve all been making the same arrangements, and keep- 
ing it a secret from the other two. I ’ve got a sleigh out 
there, and my cousin Tony — ” 

“ Who is absolutely the best boy in town,” put in Jen- 
nie, in a tone half serious, half playful. 


129 


His First and Last Appearance . 

“ My cousin Tony is to be the charioteer. He has for- 
gotten more about sleigh-riding than those brothers of 
yours know.” 

Philip, during the making of these generous offers, had 
bolted from the room. 

“ Hey, there ! ” they could hear him bawling. “ Hey, 



there! Charlie! Marie! Get your things on in a rush; 
we re going out for a sleigh ride.” 

At once there was a great movement and noise on the 
stairway outside and in the room above. Had Philip 
shouted cc fire ” he could not have produced a greater 
commotion. 

“It’s simply wonderful how much k ndness there is in 


130 His First and Last Appearance. 

the world,” said Isobel. “I don’t know how to thank you 
for your kind offer. Of course, I accept. It will be a 
treat to the little ones, and, of course, to me too.” 

“And as I was first on the ground, I claim the privilege 
of taking you in my sleigh,” said Jennie. 

“Thank you, Jennie; and Philip too. I am uneasy 
when he’s not near me. Edna, will you take my sister 
Marie ? ” 

“It will be a pleasure.” 

“ And where do I come in ? ” asked Sophie with a 
playful smile. 

“ O, you’re to have our musical director ; Charlie is only 
six, but he’s the coming Sousa; at least, that’s what he 
thinks.” 

There was a clattering on the stairs, a whispered con- 
sultation outside, followed by the appearance of three little 
children, red and rosy and smiling, and bundled up for zero 
weather. 

The girls pounced upon them at once, and there was 
much kissing. In view of the .sleigh ride, Philip submitted 
with surprising grace. Marie and Charlie were delighted. 

There were three sleighs in a line outside. The four 
occupants, who had been gaily chaffing each other, at sight 
of the girls relapsed into silence and stiffness. Not one of 
them but could have met a football rush with better grace 
than such a company as now came down the steps. 

Paul and Leo, brothers of Sophie Quinlan, looked far 
into the distance (kicking each other’s shins furtively the 
while). Tony, the tall cousin of Edna, took off his hat, 
bowed, blushed, then pretended to find the harness a subject 


His First and Last Appearance. 13 1 

of absorbing interest; while Walter, Jennie’s brother, 
blushingly amiable, broke into a smile which he was able to 
keep up for almost any length of time ; and which, in con- 
nection with the tender down quite observable on either 
cheek, gave him the air of a glorified pussy-cat. 

It was a splendid afternoon. The sleigh-ride, divided 
into two halves by an intermission consisting of an extem- 
porized musicale at the home of Edna Ronayne, lasted 
more than three hours ; and when it was over night had 
fallen, and the stars, glittering points in a fairy field of purple, 
twinkled above to the happy laughter of young people, 
to the happy laughter, even, of Isobel, who had been 
cheated out of her troubles for a time by the sweet charity 
of “three little girls from school.” 


l 3 2 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FAREWELL TO MILWAUKEE! THE “ ANARCHIST ” AGAIN 
ATTRACTS ATTENTION. 

T HE day following the sleigh-ride was a busy one, and, 
as the sequel will show, extremely eventful. What 
with packing* and entertaining callers, isobel, Marie and 
Philip were suffered to have no moments of leisure. 
Charlie, calm and unmoved in the midst of all this bustle, 
spent several hours at the piano, where, to use his own 
expression, he “ improvide,” which, being interpreted, 
signifies that he now and then discovered by much experi- 
menting a few chords in a minor key, and beat them out 
slowly and solemnly to his own supreme satisfaction. 

Sisters Mary Agnes and Mary Cecilia were early callers ; 
they came bearing gifts. The superioress brought a basket 
packed with all manner of good things for a railway trip ; 
while Sister Cecilia was content with loading the children 
with candy. She gained their hearts completely by helping 
them to eat of it. She had a talent for making herself at 
home with little folk and them at home with her ; even 
Charlie condescended to abandon his stool at the piano, 
and join the laughing circle. 

Not without a pang did Isobel bid these gentle Sisters 
farewell. She loved them, and loved their life, which, 
while alluring her, was barred from her by her duties 
toward the children. 

At half-past two in the afternoon, Jennie came with her 


His First and Last Appearance . 133 

sleigh. She was followed shortly afterward by Edna and 
Sophie. 

“ Here we are again,” said Jennie, laughing and rosy 
from her ride in the clear, cold air. “ We couldn’t let you 
go without seeing you down to the station.” 

“ How good and kind you all are,” said lsobel. “ In 
fact, I’m finding it hard to leave Milwaukee, because I’m 
leaving so much of my heart here.” 

“ That is well,” said Edna. “ Who knows but it 
will bring you back to us ? We quite grudge New York 
your returning there.” 

“ Indeed, we do,” added Sophie. u We Milwaukeeans 
are great lovers of music, and we can ill spare you and 
Philip and Marie.” 

Here Master Charlie looked darkly at Sophie. 

“And as for directors,” continued Sophie, unblushingly, 
“we have no one in town since the departure of Professor 
Tomlins quite up to the standard set by Charlie.” 

Charlie, perfectly satisfied with Sophie and himself, 
returned to the piano for a few last chords. 

“lsobel,” said Edna, drawing the girl aside, “isn’t 
there anything I can do for you ? I know, dear, from 
something you dropped yesterday that you are not well 
fixed in this world’s goods. Now. don’t take it amiss ; but 
anything I can do for you, I will do most gladly. You 
have enough to take you comfortably to New York? ” 

“Plenty, Edna. I am tired of saying to myself how 
kind you are , but it is true. Thanks to the dearest friend 
we have in New York, Professor Himmelstein, we are 
abundantly provided with money.” 


134 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“ I hope I didn’t hurt you by my offer,” said Edna 
anxiously. 

“No, no; indeed, no. It is a mystery to me how 
young ladies like you can be so good and kind to us poor 
strangers.” 

“ You are not poor strangers,” said Edna, “ and we feel 
that you are a friend. You should hear Jennie talking of 
you. She is as much concerned about your leaving as 
though you had been living with us all your life. Last 
night I stayed with Jennie at her grandfather’s house, and 
we were up till ever so late talking of you. Jennie would 
do anything for you; and so, for that matter, would 
Sophie.” 

“I’m sure I can’t understand all the goodness we have 
met with since we came,” said isobel, taking Edna’s hands 
in hers. “ I never expected to meet with so much kind- 
ness. It’s all a mystery.” 

The mystery was not impenetrable. Jennie, Edna and 
Sophie were pupils of the Holy Angels’ Academy - a fact 
which goes far to explain what puzzled Isobel. Also, they 
were under the care and influence of Sister Mary Agnes. 
No wonder, then, that they were kind and gentle. Among 
their classmates, as Edna truly remarked, there were many, 
very many, who, under the same circumstances, would act 
in exactly the same way. 

“And now, Isobel,” she continued, “since I can’t do a 
favor for you, you must do a favor for me. I want you to 
go to the depot in my sleigh. Tony is driving; and he 
was wild over your and Philip’s singing yesterday evening. 
Tony insists on having the privilege of driving you. Now, 


His First and Last Appearance. 


J 35 



u ' Look at that funny man , 


cried Edna." 


136 


His First and Last Appearance. 


mind, he won’t say much ; but he’ll be perfectly happy. 
Tony is the most generous-hearted boy in town." 

“Very well, Edna; it will be a pleasure to me and 
Philip. God bless you all." 

Presently the party jingled its way to the station. The 
tickets were bought, the baggage checked, and after much 
kissing and promises to write, Isobel, Marie, Philip and 
Charlie passed through the gate, leaving the Milwaukee 
girls smiling brightly and with tears in their eyes — April 
faces in December. 

When Isobel had settled in her place, she gazed upon 
Philip with a sigh of relief. 

“ Thank God ! " she murmured. “Although my visit 
to Milwaukee has been a failure, we have obeyed. Now 
my little Philip is safe, and that wretched man who fright- 
ened us so much will not worry us again." 

The bell rang, a jerk ran from car to car, and slowly the 
train steamed out of the station. 

“ Now I can sleep in peace,” she said, with a little sob 
of relief. “In a few hours we shall be back again among 
our friends." 

And she thought sorrowfully of poor old Professor 
Himmelstein, by this time, doubtless, far away on the broad 
bosom of the Atlantic. 

At the same moment, Sophie, Jennie and Edna, who 
were ascending the steps leading into the ladies’ sitting- 
room, were attracted by a sight which, whatever it may 
have seemed to the gatekeeper, was to them decidedly 
novel. 

“ Look at that funny man ! " cried Edna, pointing to a 


His First and Last Appearance . 137 

person who had just hurried down the steps at breakneck 
speed and was now dashing toward the gatekeeper. 

cc Goodness ! did you ever see such a sight ! ” exclaimed 
Jennie. “ He has a beard that would take a prize at an 
anarchist prize show.” 

The man had dashed past the gatekeeper, and, before 
the outgoing train had fairly pulled out of the train-shed, 
he reached the last car and swung himself up on to the 
platform. 

The girls laughed merrily and went away thinking no 
more of the incident. 

Had Isobel known that this belated passenger was none 
other than the mysterious stranger who had so frightened 
her, she would not have sighed in relief, nor have congratu- 
lated herself so prematurely on their escape. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


138 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PHILIP MEETS AN OLD FRIEND, AND GETS A SURPRISE WHICH 
LITERALLY TAKES AWAY HIS BREATH. 

T HE Union Station in Chicago was brilliantly lighted. 

Trains were rolling in and rolling out, and passenger 
traffic, at that particular hour, was exceedingly brisk. 

Isobel, more than usually timid in all this din and 
bustle, was seated with the little ones in the ladies’ waiting- 
room. The New York train had not yet been made up, 
and Isobel, worn from her week of vigil and anxiety, had 
no desire to stir beyond the station. 

Not so Philip. As the minutes wore on, he waxed 
more and more impatient. His restlessness showed itself 
in all the infinite varieties which a small boy, when he is 
put to it, can devise. 

“Say, Isobel, can’t I just take a run out of the station 
and take a look at Chicago ? ” 

He had asked this question seventeen times in less than 
a quarter of an hour. 

“ Well, dear, will you be sure not to go out of sight of 
the station ? ” 

“ Certain sure ; you needn’t be afraid. I won’t get lost.” 
“ And you won’t be away long? ” 

“ Not more than five minutes.” 

“ Very well ; we shall wait for you here. Our train will 
be ready in a quarter of an hour — just half an hour before 
it starts for New York.” 


His First and Last Appearance . 


139 


With a skip and a bound and a cry of joy Philip was off. 

Once outside the station, he took a look about him be- 
fore choosing his direction. 

The electric light sputtering overhead made the street 
so bright that one could read a newspaper. Philip was just 
about to choose his course, when he uttered a subdued cry 
of astonishment. 

Could it be ? Was he dreaming? Yes, it must be true; 
advancing toward him with his hands clasped behind his 
back, and his head bowed in meditation, looking very worn 
and aged, was Professor Himmelstein ! 

Philip looked again ; the man came on, unheedful, ap- 
parently, of his presence, and would have brushed by him, 
had not Philip caught his arm. 

The Professor turned sharply, looked into the upturned 
face, and literally jumped. 

“ Ach Gott ! ” he cried, throwing up his hands. 

“ It is you — hurrah ! ” cried Philip. 

The old man caught the boy in his arms and hugged 
him. 

“ O, but I’m glad to see you, Professor; we’ve all 
missed you so much ! We talk of you every day.” 

“So ! ” cried Himmelstein, beaming. 

He looked very haggard; his eyes were hollow, and his 
mustache, in lieu of its whilom fierceness, drooped at the 
ends. It had grown whiter, Philip thought. 

“ But, Professor, how do you come to be here? We 
thought you were on the way across the ocean to Germany.” 

“And so I was going, my leetle poy ; and I had bought 
my ticket, and I was ready to go. And then I could not go.” 


140 His First and Last Appearance. 

“Why?” 

“ Because, I — - I — could not leaf my Philip. 1 
thought perhaps that he may come back to New York.” 

“And so I am,” said Philip joyously. “We’re all on 
our way now. We’re going by the next train. ’ 

“So! How wonderful! Philip, so am 1 going, and 
we shall travel together — you and Isobel and Charlie and 
Marie.” 

“That’s great!” cried Philip enthusiastically, “and 
Isobel will be just delighted to see you. She’s waiting for 
me in the station now. Come on, let’s go and see her.” 

The Professor took out his watch. 

“ Ah ! But thirty-five minutes, and I haf not dined. 
If I go to see her, Philip, I will not be able to take myself 
away. Would you like to take supper with me ? ” 

“ Of course I should,” answered Philip promptly. 

“ Then go quick to Isobel, and tell her that I will take 
care of you ; and we shall dine together, and after that we 
shall go to your sister on the train with me. Go quick ; I 
will wait for you here.” 

Philip departed at a run. He returned presently at the 
same gait, flushed and smiling. 

“ It’s all right, Professor. Isobel says she would trust 
me anywhere in your hands.” 

“ So ! ” said the Professor, in a low and dismal guttural. 
“Well,” he added, brightening, “we shall have a great 
supper.” 

Himmelstein was true to his word. Philip was enter- 
tained right royally. Never had the old man been so 
bright, so loquacious. He poured out stories and jokes 


His First and Last Appearance. 14 1 

and puzzles, till the restaurant was made gay with the 
laughter of one of the most charming laughers alive. 

There were people there that evening who delayed over 
their meals to feast their ears upon the merry music which 
charmed the very waiters into attention. 

The old man in the pauses afforded him by this laughter 
mopped his brow. He was perspiring freely, though the 
restaurant was not particularly warm. 

But everything - even good stories and merry jests and 
a hearty appetite— comes to an end. 

“Ha!” said Himmelstein, again taking out his watch 
and frowning at it, “it is time we go. Come, I will buy a 
cigar and pay the bill.” 

When they issued from the restaurant, Himmelstein 
was puffing at an enormous Havana, which he gazed at, as 
he took it between each puff from his mouth, as though it 
were a species of explosive which might go off at any 
moment. 

“ I didn’t know you smoked, Professor.” 

“ I did not, till you and Isobel and Marie went away 
from me; and then no more I had a companion. So! and 
I got sick,, and the doctor said to me, £ smoke,’ and 1 smoke. 
And already the cigar is my companion.” 

“ Do you like it ? ” 

“No; but it likes me. It does me good. Now, Philip,” 
he went on as they entered the station, “wait one moment 
till 1 get my ticket.” 

Philip waited obediently. Instead of going to the 
ticket-office, however, Himmelstein hurried over to the 
telegraph stand, and having hastily scribbled a few words 


142 His First and Last Appearance. 

on a telegraph blank, handed the operator a coin. He 
walked, then, with a very unsteady step, the boy noticed, 
to the ticket-office. 

“ How pale you look, Professor,” said the boy, taking 
his hand after the purchase of the ticket. 

“It is the stomach ; I am not well. Philip, you 
and I will go first to the smoker car. I feel dizzy 
and I will not go with you to your sister till I feel 
better. So ? ” 

“But Isobel won’t know what has become of us,” ob- 
jected the boy. 

“ So? Ah, I forgot. But she shall haf word. Wait, 
and you will see.” 

They had passed through the door into the railroad 
shed. 

“ Carry your baggage, sir? ” cried a boy of fifteen. 

“ No, my poy, but if you would earn a quarter — ” 

“ You bet I would ! ” 

“ Pring a message to Miss Isobel Lachance: you will 
find her on the sleeper of the New York train that is going 
out in a few minutes.” 

“ I’ll find her, sir.” 

Himmelstein had pulled out a blank book and was 
already writing his^ note. 

“ Dear Isobel : (he wrote) 

“ Phil and I are going into the smoker : and when I shall 
have finished the cigar for which I paid fifteen cents, and 
which I smoke now after meals for my health, we will 
return to you in the sleeper and we will talk of old times 
and old friends, and be very happy to .be together once 


His First and Last Appearance. 


*43 



Philip listens to Professor Himmelstein 1 s recollections of the Arabian Nights. 


144 His First and Last Appearance •. 

more already. Be not anxious, I will answer for Philip. 
H e is the apple of my eye. Your friend, 

“Henry H immelstein.” 

“ There, bring that, and there is no answer. Are you 
sure you can find her ? ” 

“Just as sure as she’s there.” 

“ So ! ” and Himmelstein gave the boy a quarter. 

“ Now, Philip,” he continued, “before we go into the 
smoker car, let us look at the station. Is it not large and 
bright? What do you think? And look at all the 
peoples. Is not that a band of gypsies ? ” 

A band of gypsies it was. The glaring colors, the 
strange weird faces, caught Philip’s attention. Still holding 
the Professor’s hand, he followed them for some distance, 
and continued his artless survey till they had all dis- 
appeared in an emigrant car. 

“Now, Philip, it is already now near the time. We 
will go to the smoker.” 

They walked back some distance. 

“So! here we are. Get in, Philip, I will show the 
tickets to the man.” 

Philip mounted the platform, followed shortly by the 
Professor, and together they entered the car. There were 
not more than five or six occupants. 

“ Here, my Philip,” said the Professor, choosing a seat 
as far removed as possible from the other passengers, 
“take this place; and I will go out to see that Isobel 
gets my message. Do not stir till I come back in a 
minute.” 

The old man was not quite true to his word : he was 


His First and Last Appearance. 145 

gone for several minutes at least, and when he returned, he 
threw himself beside Philip. 

“So!” he said with a forced smile. His face was 
ghastly. Putting his cigar into his mouth, he began to 
puff furiously." 

“ Say, Professor, you look as if you were on fire. What 
makes you smoke so hard ? ” 

“So! Was I ?” asked Himmelstein, taking the cigar 
out of his mouth, and looking at it sternly. “ Come, I 
will tell you a story.” 

“All right,” said Philip, delighted, “and make it 
long, too.” 

Himmelstein had in early years read the “Arabian 
Nights.” Out of the scattered memories of its contents, 
he put together a most wonderful and incredible romance. 
Philip listened with dancing eyes and parted lips. He was 
in a land where birds laid eggs as big as elephants, where 
there were diamond valleys, and sleeping whales, and terrible 
snakes and wondrous eagles ; where there were ships and 
shipwrecks and miraculous escapes from all manner of 
danger. In a word, he was voyaging with Sinbad the Sailor. 

The bell rang, the train started; but Philip had neither 
eyes nor ears for anything but the words arid gestures of his 
companion. The city was left behind, and out of the black 
darkness outside an occasional lamp shining from some house 
revealed that they were in the country ; but Philip heeded 
not; for the narrator went on adding incident to incident 
and adventure to adventure. At last the story came to an 
end ; the cigar had been smoked and thrown away long 
before. 


146 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“ Isn’t there any more? ” asked Philip. 

“No! It is enough,” and the man wiped his brow. 
He was really exhausted by the effort. In telling that 
story, in recalling and forcing into the body of it details and 
incidents which had slept those many years in his memory, 
Himmelstein had gone through the hardest mental labor of 
his life. H e was exhausted and unnerved. Lying back in 
his seat, his features began to work convulsively. Philip, 
watching him, grew uneasy. 

“ Say, isn’t it time for us to go to lsobel’s car? ” 

“No, no; not yet,” gasped Himmelstein. His face 
was ashen gray. 

“ But 1 want to see her,” said the boy, beginning to 
whimper. 

“ There is no hurry ; sit down.” 

“ I’m going now,” sobbed Philip, frightened and uneasy. 
He made to arise, but Himmelstein shoved him back into 
the seat. 

“It’s no use, Philip. Ach Gott ! it’s no use.” With 
an effort he sat erect, and added: “Your sister is not on 
this train. This train is now half way to Milwaukee ! ” 


His First and Last Appearance . 


!47 


CHAPTER XV. 


IN WHICH PROFESSOR HIMMELSTEIN GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF 
HIMSELF AND RESTORES PHILIP TO PERFECT GOOD 
HUMOR. 


T HIS train — half way to Milwaukee? ” 

It was now Philip’s turn to grow pale. 

“ So ! ” moaned Himmelstein. 

“ And where — where is Isobel ? ” gasped the boy. He 
had ceased weeping : his emotions were too violent for tears. 

“ She’s on her way to New York. By this time she is 
ofer one hundret twenty miles.’’ 

Philip felt sure now that he was dreaming. He rubbed 
his eyes and pinched himself. 

“ I — I don’t understand,” he said, beginning to tremble. 
“ Is it a joke ? or -or — what is it ? ” 

“ No, Philip: it is not a joke:” 

“ But Isobel ! I want to see Isobel.” The boy’s 
senses were losing their numbness, and he broke into a wail. 

“ Hush ! hush ! People are looking at you. Stop,” 
hissed Himmelstein, who, thoroughly frightened himself, 
looked fiercer than Philip had ever seen him before. 

The terrified boy checked himself with a great effort, 
though his bosom heaved, his breath came fast, and large 
tears stood in his eyes and rolled down his face. 

“ I want Isobel. O, what shall I do ? ” He was break- 
ing into loud weeping again. 

“ If you cry,” whispered Himmelstein, putting a hand 


148 His First and Last Appearance. 

over Philip’s mouth, “ I will tell you nothing. But if you 
keep still, I will gif you the whole story, and I will show 
you why you must not be frightened, but why you must be 
very glad, Philip. I haf goot news. When you hear it, 
you will not cry, but you will laugh.” 

“ Does Isobel know where I am ? ” 

“ O, yes ; she has already received a telegraph that you 
are with me. I sent it, just before we left Chicago. And, 
Philip, I will bring you back to her in New York so that 
you will be there for Christmas eve.” 

“ I — I want to go back now,” moaned the boy. 

“ But no, my poy : you can not go back now. But 
when you do go back, you will haf — O ! so much money. 
I haf one hundret-fifty dollars of my own. It is for you. 
And you will be paid sixty dollars more.” 

“ Paid sixty dollars ! Who will pay me sixty dollars? ” 
“The man who gives the lecture.” 

“ Gives the lecture ? ” 

“ Listen, Philip, and I will tell you all. It is now the 
nineteenth of December. On the night of the 22d, you 
will sing one song— just one little song in public. That is 
all. Then on the next day, you will come with me back 
to New York with two hundret and ten dollars to gif your 
goot sister Isobel for a present.” 

“ But Isobel — does she know about this ? ” 
tc Listen, Philip ; and I will tell you all. Philip, I lofed 
you and I lofed your beautiful woice, and 1 trained it till 
it was the finest woice in New York. And I was proud of 
it — O, so proud. And I wanted to make your woice to 
be heard by the great musical public, and Isobel would not. 


His First and Last Appearance. 149 

And I begged, and she would not. My heart was nearly 
broken. The sweet woice is the gift of the goot Gott, and 
she would not let it be sung. When she went from New 
York, l was alone in the work. And I did no longer like the 
taste of life. I cared not to teach, and I would go back to 
the Vaterland. But when the time come that I should go, 
I could not — my Gott, I could not go, with you and 
Isobel and the little kinder at my heart.” 

Here the wretched Himmelstein patted Philip caress- 
ingly on the cheek : the boy shrunk from his touch, and the 
man winced. 

“Ah, Philip: you trust me not. Listen, and you will 
understand. I could not leaf the States before that woice 
was given once, just once, only once to the public. And 
so I made up to go to Milwaukee and find you, Philip, and 
see you once again. Ah, I lofe you, and I would not hurt 
you ; but I had to do it.” 

“ And did you go to Milwaukee ? ” 

“Yes, Philip, behold ! 

Professor Himmelstein removed his spectacles, slipped 
them into his pocket, and, in their place, put on a pair of 
dark glasses. From his coat pocket he produced a false 
beard, and fitted it on. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Philip, “ it’s the face we saw against the 
pane two nights ago.” 

“Yes, Philip: I disguised myself.” 

“ But why ? ” 

“ Because I came to see you, my poy ; and I did not 
know but that I might get you away in some how, and 1 
did not want any one to know me.” 


150 His First and Last Appearance. 

Philip began to blubber. 

“ No, Philip, don’t; or you make me unhappy. Haf 
I not been unhappy enough ? Haf I not suffered the tor- 
ture of the heart? Listen! when I got to Milwaukee, it 
was on the day of the seventeenth, and I went down the 
town for my dinner. And then I was walking along the 
street, when I see you, you yourself, standing a cake and 
candy store beside. And then you went to the window of 
the store, and you looked in, and I could see that you were 
cold, and you did begin to utter that beautiful woice, and 
it was the woice of an angel. And, O Philip, it was so 
beautiful ; and I did make up my mind to steal — not you, 
not you, but that beautiful woice of the angel. 

“When I come to Milwaukee, it was only to see your 
face again; it was to see Isobel and Marie and Charlie; it 
was in the hope of getting you to sing despite of Isobel ; it 
was to watch ofer you all. But when I heard you sing, I 
was tempted : I could not resist. Your woice, Philip, was 
my woice, and I was made up my mind to steal it.” 

“ But what did you want to do ? ” 

“ I was going to run away with the woice to Boston, 
and to get you to sing there in one concert, and then to 
send you back to Isobel.” 

“ But this is not the way to Boston.” 

“ No, Philip : you are right: it is not. From the time 
I did see you on the street, I did follow you close. And 
so I soon did hear that you were going to New York once 
more again.’’ 

“ Was it you that the Sisters saw when Isobel fainted ? ” 

“Yes: I followed you, because I wanted to steal you 


His First and Last Appearance . 151 

away. But when I heard that you go back to New York, 
I thought to steal you in Chicago, and bring you back to 
Milwaukee. So I did not follow you any more.” 

“ Did you send me that coat? ” 

“ Did it fit you well ? ” 

“ First-rate,” replied Philip, kindly refraining from tell- 
ing the Professor that his gift had not been used. 

“It look very fine on you,” observed Himmelstein, 
with an attempt at smiling which was a horrible failure. 
Realizing the effect, he removed his glasses and beard, and 
tried again. The failure this time was not so marked. 

“ What did you do next? ” 

“ I did nothing but think and walk around. But 
yesterday afternoon, I was passing the Pabst Theatre, and 
there I met a musicianer of whom I had the acquaintance 
in New York. He brought me in and showed me the 
theatre, and he told me how a gentleman had telegraphed 
and secured the hall for a lecture on £ Christmas in Song 
and Story,’ on the night of December the twenty-second. 
The musicianer said how the gentleman had gifen him the 
commission to get three soloists. And, Philip, my heart 
did jump.” 

Philip was getting interested. Just the least touch of 
redness about his eyes was all that was left of his late grief 
and terror. 

“ Did he want a boy soprano? ” 

“ He wanted a goot soloist, liking better a goot soprano. 
And listen, Philip. Isobel, your goot sister, would not haf 
the objection, if she knew. Philip, the man who gifs the 
lecture is a gentleman, and very goot and very wealthy. 


152 His First and Last Appearance. 

And it is for a select audience. I haf been told that all the 
nicest ladies and gentlemen of the city will be there. O no! 
it is not a common audience, such as Isobel would 
not like. No; it is most select. They do not pay 
the money at the door, but they enter by card. It 
is very high, it is elevating, it is loafly, and Isobel will be 
glad.” 

“That’s so,” admitted the boy, now become quite 
tranquil. “ I’m sure Isobel would not object so very much. 
And then, when I bring her all that money, she will be 
rich, and won’t have to bother about working and support- 
ing us. My! ” 

Philip’s idea of the value of a dollar was rather vague 
and exceedingly optimistic. 

“ But,” he went on, “did you offer to have me sing, 
and did the man agree? How could you do that? You 
didn’t know then that you would catch me.” 

“ 1 will explain. It is true that I did not know how to 
catch you. But when the musicianer say, the gentleman, 
he wants some fine soprano — a boy preferred — to sing 
Noel — ” 

Philip gasped. 

“So! to sing Noel at the end of the entertainment, 
I could not say nothing. Then l say: c Mr. Julian’ 
— that was his name — c Mr. Julian, gif me twenty-four 
hours, and perhaps I get you the finest soprano in the 
United States.’ He say, all right, and I promise to tele- 
graph him already when 1 know sure.” 

“The time you went to buy your ticket I saw you go 
over to the telegraph office. Was that what you went for? ” 


His First and Last Appearance. 153 

“ How you see everything! Yes; I sent a telegraph 
to Mr. Julian, which said, C I haf got the boy to sing 
Noel.’ ” 

“ And will my name be on the programme? ” 

“ No, my tear ! ” 

The look of enthusiasm died from Philip’s face. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ You will sing under another name, my poy. From 
now until we start for New York your name is Marion 
Philippo.” 

“ Why can’t I have my own name,” pouted Philip. 

“ Because we might get arrested by a policeman.” 

“ And put in jail ? ” asked Philip, showing a new kind 
of interest. 

“ So ! and my name will be not Professor Himmelstein, 
but Franz Schumann.” 

•“Why, it will be fun !” cried Philip, bright-eyed and 
radiant. 

“ So !” drawled Franz Schumann, putting on his dis- 
guise, after an ineffectul attempt at smiling. 

While the foregoing conversation was going on, Isobel, 
seated in a Pullman car, was trying to conceal from the 
children her fears. They had now been traveling for over 
twenty minutes, and no word had come from Philip and 
Himmelstein, who, she supposed, were in the smoker. 
What could keep them so long? Under pretense of 
getting a glass of water for Charlie, she whispered in the 
porter’s ear, as she passed up the aisle : 

“ Would you kindly slip into the smoker, and see 
whether there’s a little boy there named Philip, with a man 


154 His First and Last Appearance. 

with a very full mustache. He’s a German and his hair is 
long and grizzled.’’ 

“ Any message for them, miss ? ” 

“Yes; you might say that Miss Lachance is waiting for 
them. They both belong to this car, but the man went 
there to take a smoke.” 

The porter looked puzzled. 

“Why did he go there? Every Pullman has its own 
smoker. All right, ma’am,” he added, quickly, as he 
noticed the distress that came upon the girl’s face, “I’ll go 
at once.” 

Isobel returned to her place with a sinking heart. Why 
had she not thought of it before? There was absolutely 
no need for the Professor to go to the ordinary smoking- 
car. Perhaps — but she refused to let her thoughts travel 
on the ugly way of suspicion. Summoning a smile, she 
turned to the children and began chatting with them auite 

gaily- 

Presently the porter glided up to her. 

“ There ain’t no sech persons in the smoking car,” he 
whispered. “ Beg pardon, miss, you look ill. Shall I 
bring you a drink of water ? ” 

“ If you please,” the girl murmured. 

“Are you ill, Isobel?” asked Marie. 

“A little dizzy, dear. People often get dizzy on the 
cars.” 

The porter returned with the water. Isobel swallowed 
a little. 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ You are very kind.” 

“Anything you want, miss, let me know.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 155 

With an effort, Isobel addressed herself to entertaining 
the children. 

“ Is Miss Isobel Lachance in this car? ” asked an official 
of the road in a loud tone, as he threw open the door and 
entered. 

“That is my name,” said the girl, putting her hand to 
her heart. 

“ This is for you then,” he said, handing her a telegram. 
Her fingers so trembled that she could scarcely tear the 
envelope. Shading her face with her hand, so that the 
children could not see it, she read the following: 

“ Miss Isobel Lachance: Philip with me and will 
be with me till December 24th. Will bring him back safe. 
Do not worry. Do not look for him. It is useless; we 
are traveling. Henry Himmelstein.” 

The words were straight and clear to her eye at the first 
reading. Then, when she essayed to read them again, they 
danced and whirled about the yellow sheet. For several 
minutes, still shading her face, Isobel kept her eyes fixed 
on the dancing letters ; kept them there till the characters 
ceased their motions and fell into their proper places. 

“Isobel! Isobel!” she heard her name called. It 
seemed to come from far away, though the words fell from 
Marie at her side. 

“ Well, dear,” she answered mechanically. 

“What’s the matter, Isobel? Has anything happened 
to Philip? You look so pale.” 

“He’s with Professor Himmelstein, my dear. And 
now, I will go and say my beads. Take care of Charlie.” 

Isobel retired to an obscure corner of the car and told 


156 His First and Last Appearance . 

her beads. She told them well and fervently, and for well 
nigh every bead there was a tear. 

When she returned half an hour later to the children 
her face was serene and calm. Not so her heart. 

Isobel was brave: the fox might gnaw, but she would 
not cry out. 


His First and Last Appearance . 


l 57 


CHAPTER XVI. 

IN WHICH MARION PHILIPPO IS PREPARED TO ASTOUND A 
MOST CULTURED MILWAUKEE AUDIENCE. 

I T is December the twenty-second. A little distance 
westward beyond the city limits of Milwaukee stands a 
house which, vacant in winter, in summer time is used as a 
villa. At present, however, it happens to be occupied. 
Philip has been living there the past two days right royally. 
It has been little work and much play. 

The professor has been as kind and tender as a mother. 
In many respects he has gratified the young gentleman’s 
every whim. Should their stay there last much longer, 
Philip would be a spoiled boy. 

H owever, Professor Schumann, as he now chooses to 
be called, is very strict on certain points. Philip cannot go 
beyond the yard which surrounds the villa — spacious 
grounds, it is true, but by no means large enough to suit 
the desires of the young soprano — and when he does take 
the air within this enclosure, he is muffled up so completely 
that, on the one hand, it is hardly possible for him to take 
cold, and, on the other, the sharpest eye would fail to 
recognize the little boy who on December the seventeenth 
charmed a miscellaneous crowd in the open air with his 
wondrous singing of Noel. 

“ Remember, Marion Philippo,” the Professor would 
say when Philip chafed under these limitations, “ remember 


158 His First and Last Appearance. 

it is your first appearance. If you do well, Isobel’s fortune 
is made.” 

As a rule this remark reduced the youngster to sub- 
mission. 

For half an hour in the morning and another half in the 
afternoon, Marion Philippo was compelled to practise. In 
spite of himself, he was carried away by the Professor’s 
enthusiasm, and was so docile that Himmelstein was raised 
to the seventh heaven of musical happiness. 

The last practise had come. Marion Philippo was 
attired in a very pretty suit of velvet, set off to advantage 
by laced cuffs, a colored tie in which red predominated, and a 
pair of shining patent leather slippers. A barber had been 
on the scene just previously to the practise, and had left 
our little friend with a glorious head of hair — his own hair, 
it is true, but coaxed and twisted into ripples of beauty. 

“ Ah, Marion Philippo,” said the Professor from the 
piano stool, “ you look bewitching.” 

“ I do look pretty gay, ’ assented Philippo serenely. 

C£ The women — the fine ladies — will all come and kiss 
you.” 

“ O, I say,” piped the boy in great indignation, “ I’m 
not going to stand that — I don’t want to sing at all.” 

“They will come and kiss you, if I do not prewent 
them. But do not fear. It shall not come to happen. I 
will bring you to the theatre in a closed carriage, and I will 
bring you back in a closed carriage : it will be here in an 
hour. And while we are there, we will sit alone in a room, 
till it is time for you to come out. Then we shall come 
back ; and to-morrow we shall go to Chicago, and from 


His First and Last Appearance. 


*59 


there to New York, and O, Isobel will be so happy when 
she shall see you in your fine clothes, and with your 
pockets filled with money.” 

“ It will be immense ! ” said Marion Philippo joyfully. 
The thought of the home-coming filled his heart almost to 
overflowing. Were it not that he thought he was working 
in Isobel’s interest, he would not have fought so manfully 
against the feeling of homesickness, which, despite the 
endeavors of the Professor, attacked him so frequently 
during the long hours. But he was brave for Isobel’s dear 
sake. 

“ Coom now : we will practise.” 

Marion Philippo was in splendid voice. Not an in- 
flection, not a cadence was other than what the Professor 
had suggested. Tremolo and trill, the swell and the fall, 
the expression of pathos and of triumph — all were brought 
out with an accuracy which left practically nothing to be 
desired. 

€C Ach Gott ! ” cried Himmelstein at the conclusion of 
the third stanza, “ where are the men who say that moosic 
is not the greatest of the arts ? Let them coom. Let them 
listen once to Marion Philippo sing Noel, and they will go 
away conwerted. Ah ! Marion Philippo, the people will rise 
in their seats, and they will coom behind the scenes— ” 

“No, you don’t,” broke in Marion Philippo. “I 
don’t want to be — ” 

“Ah, vait! but when they coom behind, we shall not 
be there. Oh, no ! we will be rolling away in our carriage. 
And they will talk and wonder who Marion Philippo is; 
but they shall not know.” 


160 His First and Last Appearance . 

“ O, you can tell them my name, you know.” 

“So? We shall see.” 

The Professor ate no supper. He had enough to do 
to see to the proper dieting of his pet nightingale. Philip 
rebelled, for his appetite was good. But the Professor had 
his way, and the boy arose hungry, but consoled with the 
promise of a magnificent banquet immediately after the 
performance. 

Promptly at a quarter past seven the carriage came. If 
Philip had been a small case of dynamite, Professor Him- 
melstein.. could not have been more careful in wrapping him. 
The bandaging, the tying of wraps, the pinning, the intense 
study given to every detail by the old man would have 
done credit: to the most skilful of surgeons. There were ear- 
muifs, and gloves, and covers for the wrists, and gums for 
the feet, and wraps for the face, and a silk handkerchief for 
the neck* and, last, but not least, a sort of domino which 
covered the coat and reached to the boy s heels. Even 
Isobel would not have recognized her little brother. Before 
the preparations for bringing him into the open air were 
quite complete, Philip was reduced to tears. 

“ I ain’t a wax doll ! ” he pouted. 

“So? you are worth a million of the wax dolls. Now, 
Philip, I mean, Marion, do not open your mouth to 
breathe, but keep your lips shut tight, and breathe through 
your nose.” 

“Yes, I will. But what are we waiting for? ” 

“And Marion, do not eat that lozenge; but keep it in 
your mouth till it is all melted away.” 

“ Yes; let’s go.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 1 6 1 

Professor Himmelstein glanced around the room to 
make sure that he had not forgotten anything. Then he 
fixed his gaze on Philip. 

“ Are your wristbands on ? ” 

“ You spent at least five minutes at them.” 

“ And haf you your lace cuffs in your pocket?” 

“Yes, yes; I’ve got everything. Come, ’et’s go.” 

“ Well. We go. So ! ” and putting on his beard and 
dark glasses, Himmelstein conducted the boy to the 
carriage. 

It was nearly eight o’clock when they arrived at the 
Pabst Theatre. As they got out, Philip observed with 
interest the long line of carriages and the knots of ladies 
and gentlemen who were making their way to the main 
entrance. 

It was a bitter cold night; but so absorbed was Philip 
in contemplating the scene that he stood stock still on the 
sidewalk, and gazed about him with open mouth. 

“ Ach Himmel ! ” roared the Professor, catching him in 
a grasp of iron. “You will kill yourself. To stand here 
in the cold and with the mouth open to receive all the 
microbes of the city that hate the sweet woice.” 

As he spoke, he was dragging Philip toward the side 
entrance. 1 hey were in much faster than suited the will 
of the singer, but he saw that resistance was useless. 
Himmelstein was in a rage of terror. 

“ So ! ” he said when they had been shown into a little 
room, which, according to his directions, had been almost 
hermetically sealed, “ so ! now we shall stay here till the time 
is at hand. The lecturer will begin in one minute ; then 


i 62 


His First and Last Appearance . 


there will be a solo by a lady; then more lecture; then a 
solo by a man and more lecture ; then a duo, then a trio, 
then a quartet, and then, Marion Philippo, it will be your 
turn. They are all fine singers, the very finest in the city. 
And they will all sing the beautiful Christmas songs. And 
the people will think it very goot. But when you come 
out and sing, Marion, they will forget forefer and forefer 
that the others have sung; and they will go home with just 
one thing in their heads, and that one thing will be one 
woice.” 

“ Where’s that orange you promised me ? ” asked Philip. 

The Professor groaned; but he got the lad the orange. 




His First and Last Appearance . 


i6 3 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS ON THE SCENE AGAIN, AND THE 
AUDIENCE IS TREATED TO ITS FIRST PLEASANT 
SURPRISE. 

D URING the hour and a half of waiting in the little 
room, the Professor was, as the saying is, on pins 
and needles. One would think, looking at him, that it was 
to be not Philip’s, but his first appearance. He paced 
the room, he bit his finger-nails, he tousled his hair till it 
stood up a bristling plume. At intervals he would put on 
his false beard, and after an impatient survey in the mirror, 
remove it. Now and then, he made an attempt at conver- 
sation, but his words were incoherent; he would begin six 
or seven sentences and leave them all incomplete. If the 
Professor is ever required to finish all the sentences he 
began that night, it will go hard with him indeed. 

One or twice he took out his beads: they rattled in his 
fingers. But he could not pray. 

“Ach Gott ! I am a willin,” he burst out after the 
second attempt. 

Marion Philippo, all this time was perfectly tranquil. 
Beyond admiring himself at intervals of five or ten minutes 
in the mirror, he was content to sit cross-legged sucking an 
orange, or examining the pictures of a juvenile magazine 
which the Professor had thoughtfully provided. 

The room was so far from the stage that but few distinct 
sounds reached their ears. The voice of the lecturer could 


164 His First and Last Appearance . 

just be heard. Now and then a light dapping of hands 
(the audience was not demonstrative) broke the monotony. 
When the first singer’s voice was heard, Himmelstein 
opened the door a few inches, previously putting on his 
disguise and placing Philip where he could not possibly be 
in a draught. 

“ It is goot,” he commented, “but wait: they will see.” 

After the song, the door was carefully shut, the false 
beard removed, to be put on again when the time came for 
the next musical number. 

About half past nine o’clock, there was a tap at the door. 

“ Herein ! ” chattered the Professor. 

“You are to come next,” said a voice without. “Get 
your singer at the wings and be ready.” 

“ So ! Now, Marion Philippo, coom, and say nothing. 
I will put you on a wing and will myself go to the piano. 
Where did I tell you to stand? ” 

“ Three feet back of the footlights and in the middle of 
the stage.” 

“ And when are you to coom out and bow ? ” 

“ When the lecture man says : c I have now the 
pleasure of introducing to you the great boy soprano, Mas- 
ter Marion Philippo.’ ” 

“ Then what do you ? ” 

“ Why just walk out, and when you’ve played the intro- 
duction, I begin to sing.” 

“ So ! Now quick : keep your mouth closed until you 
begin to use your woice.” 

The usher, who had been waiting outside, put in his 
head at the door, and said : 


His First and Last Appearance. 165 

“ Pardon me ; but there is no time to lose. Professor, 
if you go down to your piano, I will see to the boy.” 

“So ! Well, goot-by, Phil — Marion. Got bless you,” 
and the old man, wringing the boy’s hand with an energy 
which caused the young singer to wriggle and wince, stag- 
gered away. 

“What’s the matter with him, anyhow?” asked the 
usher as he conducted Philip from the room. “ Anything 
wrong with his head? He’s the craziest-looking loon I’ve 
seen in a long time.” 

“ He’s just excited,” said Philippo, tranquilly. “He’s 
always that way when there’s any music to be sung ; but 
to-night he’s worse than usual. What’s the use of getting 
excited about a little bit of a song? It will be all over in 
five minutes. Do you see any use, sir ? ” 

“Can’t say I do,’’ replied the usher with a grin. “ But 
you know most people are more or less self-conscious 
when they have to appear in public.” 

“ It isn’t right to be selfish,” remarked Philip oracularly. 
“ O, there’s the lecturer,” he continued as the usher 
stationed him beside a wing, “and— and — ” 

Philip rubbed his eyes and stared again. 

“ Why,” he gasped in delighted astonishment, “ if it 
isn’t Mr. John Dunne ! ” 

£< Do you know him? ” whispered the usher. 

“ Know him ? I guess I do : he’s one of my great 
friends. We had an oyster supper together about five days 
ago. O, he’s just a daisy. If Isobel knew I was going to 
sing for him, she’d be delighted. I wonder why the Pro- 
fessor didn’t tell me it was Mr. John Dunne.” 


i66 


His First and Last Appearance . 


In justice to Professor Himmelstein, it should be ex- 
plained that he had never seen the lecturer during all the 
negotiations. The name John Dunne, too, signified noth- 
ing to him. But when he took his seat at the piano in the 
orchestra and looked up, he was as much astonished as 
Philip had been a moment before. So this was Mr. John 
Dunne ! The very man who had taken Philip Lachance 
into Conroy’s on the seventeenth of December. An almost 
overpowering access of fear came upon the old man. He 
glanced furtively toward the other end of the theatre, as 
though he were meditating a flight. There were three 
policemen at the door, and the vestibule was fairly crowded 
with young men. The house itself was full — every seat 
and every box was occupied. Seldom if ever had a more 
refined, a more select audience gathered in Pabst’s Theatre. 

Having taken in all this in that one wild glance, 
Himmelstein pulled off his dark glasses, and stared at them 
intently, holding them, the while, within an inch of his 
nose. A few of the younger people in the front seats 
tittered. But the Professor heard not, and continued to 
scrutinize his glasses with a scowl, which, in combination 
with his shaggy btard, gave him the aspect of a villian in a 
three-volume novel. 

Under all that apparent fierceness, there quaked a much 
terrified heart. John Dunne, he reflected, knew Philip, 
and Philip knew John Dunne. There would be a recogni- 
tion ; there would be explanations ; and the end of it would 
be that Professor Himmelstein, a man hitherto of spotless 
reputation, would be clapped into jail, and every journal in 
the country would announce in glaring headlines the mar- 


Ilis First and Last Appearance 


167 



5 ) 


His first appearance. 






1 68 


His First and Last Appearance. 


velous kidnapping of Philip Lachance by Henry Himmel- 
stein, professor of music. 

“ It is the way of the transgressor : it is the punishment 
of Gott. Perhaps, it is just. Well, if Philip sing well, I 
am willing to go into the jail ; for I haf lifed my life.” 
Thus muttered Himmelstein to himself, as the lecturer was 
giving what was evidently the peroration of his lecture. 

Finally, he came to a pause and bowed. A wave of 
enthusiastic murmuring rippled through the audience, suc- 
ceeded by a clapping of hands, a trifle more vivacious than 
could have been expected from these local Vere de Veres. 
The Christmas sentiment, touched as it is with all that is 
sweetest and loveliest in human life, had been stirred within 
them. 

“ And now, ladies and gentlemen,” pursued the lecturer, 
“ I have reserved as a fitting end to this evening devoted 
to Christmas and the Christ-Child, a number, which, I have 
been given to understand, will be the most memorable 
thing of this entertainment. In Catholic France, Christmas 
to many and many a heart would not be Christmas were 
they to fail hearing Adolphe Adam’s Noel. Some few 
days ago, I happened to overhear a little boy singing a 
stanza of this sweet and most touching melody. He sang 
it as though he had been taught of some glorious angel. I 
made friends with the little fellow, who, I learn, returned 
to New York, his native city, two or three days ago. Now, 
it was to this boy’s singing that this evening’s entertainment 
is due. His sweet voice filled me with all the Christmas 
memories of my whole life. All the love and tenderness 
and affection proper to this holy and joyful season came 


His First and Last Appearance. 169 

back to me (if I may so express myself ) in one single wave 
of emotion. After leaving the boy, it occurred to me that 
I could do nothing better than voice, if possible, my 
own feelings, my recollections, my readings connected 
with Christmas in song and story ; and so it came about 
through the inspiration of a little child that you and I, 
ladies and gentlemen, have thus pleasantly come together 
to-night.” 

There was another murmur of applause. 

“ In arranging my -lecture,” continued Mr. Dunne, “I 
resolved, if possible, to get some boy soprano to sing Noel : 
not the boy I heard singing it, because, as I learned by 
chance, he left for New York two days after my meeting 
him. Being called away from town on important business, 
1 could not attend to the matter myself ; but I put it in the 
hands of a musical agent. At first, he could not find any 
one who, in his opinion, could do justice to the song. But 
at the eleventh hour — and after I had, not without a strug- 
gle, concluded to omit Noel — he found just what was 
wanted. A friend of his from New York, Professor 
Himmelstein, told him that he could secure the services 
of a boy who, in his opinion, was the greatest boy 
soprano in the United States. Twenty-six hours after 
this conversation, Himmelstein telegraphed from Chicago 
that he had got the boy, together with his teacher, Professor 
Franz Schumann. It will be the young soprano’s first appear- 
ance. Ladies and gentlemen, I have now the pleasure of 
introducing to you the great boy soprano, Master Marion 
Philippo.” 

At the name, Philip, wondering very much over some 


170 His First and Last Appearance. 

of the things just said, stepped out from behind the 
scenes and, with eyes opened to their widest and fastened 
intently upon Mr. Dunne, advanced to the middle of the 
stage. 

At sight of the little boy with the soft, childish face 
and total lack of self-consciousness, there was a succession 
of “ ohs ” and “ ahs ” from the balcony down to the 
orchestra circle. 

“The little darling!” came from a lady in tones 
clearer than she intended : and then the greatest applause 
of the evening awoke the echoes of the magnificent 
building. 

Mr. Dunne, meanwhile, looked at Philip, started 
slightly, and, with a self-control which did him credit, 
turned to his reading desk and drank off a glass of water. 

Philip, unconscious of the audience, walked directly up 
to him, and with his confiding smile, said : 

“H ow de do, Mr. Dunne,” and put out his hand. 

The applause that had begun to die away awoke again. 
It looked very pretty, very naive to these people, who knew 
nothing of Marion Philippo’s acquaintance with Mr. Dunne, 
to see the young soprano thus paying his respects in public 
to a man they all knew and loved. 

“ I will see you after the song, Philip,” whispered Mr. 
Dunne in return pressing the boy’s hand warmly. “Now 
go, my boy, and do your best. ’ 

Mr. Dunne retired, puzzled, wondering; Philip turned 
and, advancing, bowed; and Himmelstein, whose hair was 
now more savage in appearance than his beard, struck the 
opening chords. With his hands behind his back, his head 


His First and Last Appearance. 17 1 

erect, Philip glanced smilingly about the house. To him 
they were all friends. And in answer to that smile, there 
was scarce one in the audience who did not return it, with 
nods and bows and eyes that told the friendship and good 
will thus suddenly evoked. 


172 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN WHICH THE AUDIENCE IS SURPRISED BEYOND THE WILD- 
EST DREAM OF PROFESSOR HIMMELSTEIN, AND PHILIP 
IS THE MOST ASTOUNDED BOY THAT EVER SANG IN 
PUBLIC ON THE STAGE. 

B UT Mr. Dunne was by no means the only person in 
the Pabst Theatre on that eventful night who was 
surprised by the unlooked-for appearance of Philip Lachance. 
In the front seats of a private box flush with the stage, and 
so near it that she could reach to the footlights with the 
hand, sat Jennie Hume with her brother, who, on this 
bright evening, looked, if possible, more than ever like a 
glorified pussy-cat. 

On Philip’s appearing, Jennie uttered a sound of awe. 
“ Something's going to happen,” she exclaimed ; and she 
opened eyes and mouth. 

Walter said “Gee!” and tried to whistle softly, while 
kicking the legs of his chair. 

“Aunt,” cried Jennie, turning to a middle-aged lady 
who was seated beside an old gentleman of distinguished 
appearance, “Aunt, that’s Isobel Lachance’s brother. I’m 
sure it is. You know, I told you they went back to New 
York. 1 wonder how he comes to be here.” 

“Indeed! How strange! ” said Mrs. Easton. “Father,” 
she said to the old man, “ Father, there’s a mystery here. 
That boy who ought to be in New York interests me very 


His First and Last Appearance. 


173 



il On Philip's appearing , . . Walter said c Gee 


174 His First and Last Appearance . 

much. Poor little dear! what a sweet engaging manner he 
has.” 

Mr. Hammond, the’father of the lady who just addressed 
him, had a severe, unsmiling expression. Just now, how- 
ever, the severity melted away as he witnessed the pretty 
handshaking scene between Mr. Dunne and Philip. 

“ Upon my word, Belle,” he exclaimed, “ I never saw 
anything prettier in my life. That boy would interest any 
one. There’s something about the little fellow’s expression 
which touches me very much.” 

“ I feel just as you do father,” returned Mrs. Easton. 
“ Jennie has told me all about the little Lachances, who 
came and went like a pretty dream, and I was interested in 
them even before I saw this boy. Jennie is quite in love 
with Isobel. If she’s as engaging as the boy, it is small 
wonder.” 

“ O, I do wish mamma had come,” said Jennie. 

“ 1 heard Philip sing once — by the way, why do they 
call him Marion Philippo ? There must be something 
wrong. I feel as if I were in the plot of a good story-book. 
There’s a genuine mystery. 1 wonder how it will turn 
out.” 

In the front seats, and not far from Jennie, sat Sophie 
and Edna. Having stared thus far at the young soprano, 
they were now expressing their utter astonishment in dumb 
show to Jennie, who, in turn, answered by mystic shrugs 
and gestures. Presently, Jennie’s eyes fell upon Professor 
Himmelstein. Again she started, again she gasped, again 
her eyes were opened and her brows raised. 

“ O, aunt! ” she exclaimed, “ I’ve seen that man there 


His First and Last Appearance . 175 

at the piano before. Where was it? O, yes: he was the 
man we saw at the station running to catch the train that 
Isobel left on. Do you remember him, Walter?” 

“That’s a fact: that’s him, sure enough,” answered 
Walter, wriggling in his seat like a surprised eel. I say, 
Jennie, it is like a story-book.” 

“ I’d give anything to understand,” cried the girl fer- 
vently. “ Ah, there they begin.” 

At the first chord from the piano, a silence suddenly 
fell upon that great assemblage. The prelude w r as played, 
the critical moment had come ; and Philip, with the skilled 
manner of one who had sung in public all his life, slipped 
easily and sweetly into the melody. His opening notes, 
full and true, though not very loud, sent a thrill through 
every listener. At first, it was only the voice, so free, so 
sweet, which charmed each listening ear. But very 
presently, it was something far above and beyond the 
reach of musical sound. For almost at once, his mobile 
face took on an expression which told the audience that 
with this little soprano music and feeling were moving hand 
in hand. While his tongue syllabled the holy night, his 
soul saw it — saw the stars, saw the earth waking from its 
slumber of sin and of death. For Philip there w 7 as no 
audience. The things that were had become as the things 
that are not, and, at one bound, his imagination had leaped 
across the centuries and gained the fields that lay still and 
breathless in the solemn midnight of the olden days. For 
Philip there was no audience at all. In its stead there was 
a vision. A great light shown down upon the plains, a 
multitude of the heavenly host bathed and floated in its 


176 His First and Last Appearance . 

splendor, and the shepherds were either face downward 
upon the ground, or holding their arms before their eyes 
lest the splendor of God should strike them dead. 

When Philip came to the line, 

“ A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices; ” 

his voice sank so low that many held their breath instinc- 
tively, lest they should lose the slightest fraction of the 
lovely sounds. On the word “thrill’’ his voice so quivered 
that not only the sound but the thing signified passed from 
heart to heart like echoes among the answering hills. The 
song had become more than a song. It had risen to a 
drama — and its subject was the Redemption. 

f( Fall on your knees J ” 

All the fullness, all the vibrant power of that extra- 
ordinary voice went into these words. One might fancy 
that the singer was an inspired and majestic messenger from 
on high calling upon all to adore. 

“ Oh, hear the angel voices.” 

With the ending of this phrase, his voice died away — 
and there was an eloquent pause, while Philip, and with him 
the audience, seemed to be listening for the strains which 
once made the night of nights resound with “ Glory be to 
God on high, and on earth peace to men of good will.” 

While Philip thus paused, the piano was silent : the 
piano was silent, and the auditors were silent. It was 
as though each one had caught his breath, and was waiting 
in tense expectation to catch the accents of the heavenly 
choirs. 

Then suddenly, with triumph and joy in every tone, 


i?7 


His First and Last Appearance . 

with an echo of the gladness born of the gladdest tidings 
that ever fell upon mortal ear, with inspiration born of per- 
fect faith, he trebled forth in a volume of loveliness : 

“ Noel ! Noel ! O night when Christ was born ! 

Noel ! Noel ! O night, O night divine ! ” 

The first stanza was finished, and Philip, who was little 
of an angel, despite his voice, and very much of a boy, 
glanced cheerfully and complacently upon the audience, 
which, though he knew it not, he had bewitched. A 
moment before, he had been on the plains of Bethlehem, he 
had brought the audience along with him, and left them 
there with the angels; but he, he himself, bounded in an 
instant from the first to the nineteenth century and was 
back in Milwaukee and in the Pabst Theatre looking about 
at the sea of faces, and wondering why so many people 
were wiping their eyes with their handkerchiefs. The Pro- 
fessor meanwhile was playing the concluding bars. Poor 
old Professor Himmeistein no longer feared. He had for- 
gotten everything in the music, and was as a mortal who 
had been raised to the skies. Those who had tittered at 
him a few moments ago, now looked at him in wonder. 
His head was thrown back, and his eyes were raised in an 
ecstasy. For him there was no longer either space or time. 

He began the prelude to the second stanza with perfect 
phrasing. There was inspiration - inspiration born of that 
voice — in every touch of his fingers. 

Philip’s eyes meanwhile had happened to fall upon 
Jennie. She was watching him, and, though there were 
tears in her eyes, she broke into an April smile of recogni- 
tion. 


ij8 His First and Last Appearance. 

Philip now felt that he was at home. Plow nice it was 
that Jennie should be there! And beside her sat Walter, 
with a smile that defied measurement. Philip scarce had 
time to nod to them, and to observe the lady and the 
gentleman who sat behind them when Professor Him- 
melstein’s prelude launched him into the second stanza. 

The sweetness, the unconscious pathos were still with 
him, but the inspiration of the first stanza was lacking. 
Philip remained on the stage, remained unconscious of the 
sights and sounds around him ; yet though he led not the 
way, he succeeded in keeping his hearers whither he had 
already brought them on the wings of sound. 

H owever, as he went on in this second stanza, the 
music and the words gradually drew his thoughts and feel- 
ings back to the hills where the shepherds kept watch. 
Although his eyes were still fixed upon the two children in 
the private box, they soon lost sight of what was before 
them and looked into the far East and the far times when 
night was truly made divine. Again the inspiration re- 
turned, again his voice rang out with all the spirit of angefic 
joy* The effect upon the audience was more striking than 
before. 

Toward the end of the stanza, Philip was brought back 
again to the reality of his surroundings by the slight move- 
ment of the lady in the private box. Overcome by the 
tenderness of the boy’s voice, touched, as she had never 
been touched before, with the sweetness and love of the 
Christ-Child, she bowed her head, putting her hands to 
either temple. Philip stared. 

Professor Himmelstein played the prelude to the third 


His First and Last Appearance. 179 

stanza, and, when the time came, struck the chord which 
was to guide the sweet voice. But no voice was heard. 
He waited a moment, then played the prelude once more. 
Again he waited. His face was turned toward the people, 
and, raising his eyes, he noticed a strange stir. Many 
were gazing in amazement toward the stage. 

With a shiver, the Professor looked up, and there he 
saw a spectacle which he shall never forget. Oblivious of 
his surroundings, Philip with his eyes fixed upon the 
woman, whose head was still bowed, was walking slowly 
across the stage, his face pale, and his bosom heaving. He 
stopped directly in front of the box, a look of wonder, of 
incredulity, upon his countenance. The silence had be- 
come painful. Just then the woman raised her face. At 
once, Philip’s expression of wonder changed to an exceed- 
ing joy. 

“ Why, mamma,” he cried in a voice, which, though 
pitched low, was so distinct that it could be heard through- 
out the house, “ they told me you were dead.” 

And on the instant he leaped from the stage into the 
box, and threw his arms about the woman’s neck. 

A moment later, he drew his head back to look into 
the dear face. At once, the light of gladness went out of 
his eyes, and the warm blood mantled his face. 

“ My dear boy,” said the lady, who, though thoroughly 
amazed, remained mistress of herself, “ my dear boy, what 
do you mean?” And while she held his hands, her gentle 
eyes looked with eager inquiry into his. 

At the sound of her voice, the disappointment on 
Philip’s face was unmistakable. He scarcely heeded Mr. 


180 His First and Last Appearance. 

Dunne calling upon the people to leave quietly ; scarcely 
heeded the puzzled Jennie, who, with Walter, had placed 
herself as a screen between him and the audience. 

“ Oh ! I thought you were my mother, ma’am,’’ he 
said in tones of bitter disappointment, and forthwith the 
tears sprang to his eyes. Try as he might, he could not 
force them back. Philip began to weep. He checked his 
sobs manfully, and went on with a strange quiver in his 
voice : 

“ I saw you with your head bowed down the way she 
used to do ; and I was sure you were my mother. I never 
thought she was dead. And then when you looked up and 
I saw your face, it was mamma’s face all over — only look- 
ing softer and paler, like you had been sick. O, but you 
do look so like her, ma’am ; and I did never believe she 
was dead, and I beg your pardon for acting so.” 

As Philip went on speaking, the old gentleman was 
bending down at his side and observing his every look, 
tone and gesture with an intensity beyond description. 
The lady was fast losing her wondrous control. She went 
pale, then red, then pale again ; her bosom was shaken 
with emotion, her lips trembled. Suddenly, eagerly, 
quickly, she gasped : 

“ Tell me quick, my dear, what was your mamma’s name.” 

“ Mrs. Lachance.” 

“ But her maiden name, dear ? ” 

“Agnes Hammond.” 

“ O, my God ! ” cried Mrs. Easton, throwing her arms 
about the boy’s neck. “My God! No, my dear, I am 
not your mamma, but your mamma’s sister.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 


1 8 1 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A CHAPTER OF RECOGNITIONS AND SURPRISES. PHILIP DE- 
CIDES TO REMAIN IN MILWAUKEE, AND ISOBEL GETS A 
GLADSOME MESSAGE. 

“ T ET me look on his face again,” said Mr. Hammond. 

' His lips and fingers were trembling, and he could 
scarcely pronounce the words. 

He took the boy’s face between his hands, and gazed 
long and intently into Philip s upturned eyes. 

“ It is her face, poor Agnes’s face,” he said at length 
in broken tones. “ Is Agnes — is your mother dead, my 
boy ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“You are my own grandchild, little one,” and stooping 
he kissed the boy hurriedly and left the box. 

“ Ah, no wonder I felt a strange attraction for you, my 
Philip,” said Mrs. Easton. “Your mother and I were always 
together — and — and— you are so like her, my dear, so like 
her, so like her ! ” 

Philip was astonished, but of all those who were in the 
box, he was by far the most composed. He was too young 
to take in all at once the strange and wonderful series of 
events, of coincidences, which had at a moment changed 
the lives and fortunes of all the Lachances. 

“You look so like my mother,” he said simply, “and 
— and — I like you.” 

During all this, Jennie had stood gazing, transfixed. 


182 


His First and Last Appearance . 


“ It’s better than a play,” said Walter in tones of awe. 

But Jennie gave no heed to his remarks. 

“ Say,” continued Walter, “ where do we come in? If 
Mrs. Easton is my aunt, and Philip is Mrs. Easton s uncle 
— I mean nephew — say, Jennie, that boy’s mother is Mrs. 
Easton’s sister, and Mrs. Easton’s sister is our mother’s 
sister. Say, Jennie, can’t you tell a fellow what relation 
Philip is to me ? ” 

“ He’s your cousin, Walter.” 

“ Whoop-la ! ” yelled Walter, tumbling over a chair and 
into Philip’s arms. “How de do, cousin Philip?” 

“ Are you a relation of mine, too ? ” asked Philip, now 
beaming with joy. 

“ You bet, I am,” answered Walter, jerking Philip’s arm 
with a cordiality that could not be mistaken. 

“ Say, Walter, have I many relations here ? ” 

“The woods are full of ’em,” cried Walter, dancing. 
“ That girl there, Jennie — she’s your cousin, too.” 

Jennie, not without a certain dignity, brushed the 
effusive Walter away. 

“To think,’’ she said, kissing Philip, “ that Isobel, the 
nicest girl I ever met, the girl I fell in love with on sight, 
is my own, own cousin. O, it’s all too good to be true. I 
can’t believe it. is it really you, Philip ? ” 

“ Yes : it just is,” answered Philip. “I’ve been a pinch- 
ing and a kicking myself— and the pinching hurts — and so 
I know it isn’t a dream. Go on and pinch yourself : here, 
I’ll do it for you.” 

“ No, thank you, Philip. Was there ever anything like 
it, though. It’s like a romance. And O, it is so beautiful ! 


His First and Last Appearance. 183 

And to think that the little boy, the poor little boy without 
an overcoat, into whose pocket I slipped a silver dollar — 
to think that he’s my cousin ! And that Isobel — my good- 
ness, Walter, I ’ve half a mind to drive to the convent and 
wake up Sister Mary Agnes, and tell her the whole story — 
Philip, cousin Philip, you owe me a dollar ! ” 

Philip, getting more and more dazed as the facts in the 
case began to dawn on him, had nestled into Mrs. Easton’s 
arms and was looking up into her tear-stained face. 

In the body of the theatre, meanwhile, there was no 
vulgar display of curiosity. The audience prepared to 
leave, as though the performance had come to an end in 
the usual way. There was much whispering, much wonder, 
but the conduct of all was unexceptional. 

From the moment that Philip leaped from the stage, poor 
old Himmelstein sat stock still at the piano with his eyes 
fixed on the private box. On seeing the lady, after a 
moment’s pause and a few whispered words, return Philip’s 
hug with interest, Himmelstein pulled his beard off with 
one jerk. Then he arose, and, having removed his dark 
glasses, put on his regular spectacles. 

Th ose of the audience who were in the front seats, and 
were waiting for the crowd to thin, were all attracted by 
his strange conduct. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,’' he said in tones of remorse, 
“ I am not Professor Schumann, but Professor Himmel- 
stein. I am a willin. Ach Gott ! get a policeman. I 
will go to the penitentiary.” 

“ Poor fellow ! he’s mad ! ” said a voice. 

“No, no; I am not mad. I wish I was mad. But I 


184 His First and Last Appearance. 

am a thief, a stealer of a poy. And Gott has wisited me. 
I shall go to jail — ” 

A hand was laid on the Professor’s shoulder. He 
turned and found himself facing Mr. Dunne. 

“Professor,” he said with an air of authority, “say 
nothing, but come with me.” 

“So,” groaned Himmelstein: and together they dis- 
appeared through the doorway under the stage. 

“Who is that boy ? ” continued Mr. Dunne, as he con- 
ducted the old man up the stairway and behind the scenes. 

“Ach Gott! 1 know not. One hour ago, he was 
Marion Philippo ; all his life before, he was Philip Lachance, 
but now he is somebody else.” 

“ And who are you ? ” 

“ I am Henry Himmelstein, and I stole the poy away 
to hear once in public the angel woice. But I am punished. 
Ah ! the death, the death in life has come upon me. If I 
beleafed not in Gott, I would now kill myself. O Isobel, 
my tear Isobel, how may 1 ever look upon your face— I, 
who have lied to you and deceived you ! ” The Professor, 
as he thus invoked the absent girl, clasped his hands and 
raised his eyes to heaven in agony. He was beside himself 
with remorse. 

They had now reached the little room where Philip and 
his teacher had spent the evening. As they were just 
entering, Mr. Hammond came hurrying toward them. 

“ O, John Dunne, John Dunne!” he cried, “this is 
the most blessed day of my life. John ! that little boy is 
my grandchild.” 

“Wait there!” commanded Mr. Dunne, pushing the 


His First and Last Appearance . 185 

old Professor into the room with a violence occasioned by 
the excitement .which this announcement produced. And, 
twirling fiercely at his mustache the while, he hurried away. 

He was in the private box in a moment, and taking the 
singer from Mrs. Easton’s arms, he held him close, looking 
meanwhile into his eyes. 

“ Ah ! what a fool I was,” he exclaimed. “ Philip, 
Philip ! no wonder your face seemed so familiar to me. 
And yet — how could I have missed it? Yes: your 
mother’s lovely eyes, her brows, her very smile — and I 
could not place it all.” 

“ Are you a relation of mine, too ? ” cried the smiling 
Philip. 

In answer to which, Mr. Dunne, into whose eyes had 
come the tears that would not be stayed, pressed the boy 
to his breast, and, letting him down, departed without say- 
ing a word. 

“Why, aunt,” said Jennie, “what in the world is the 
matter with Mr. Dunne? Why should he be in such a 
state of excitement? What has Philip to do with him, I 
should like to know? ” 

“Well Jennie, I don’t mind telling you now, since it’s 
bound to come out again. Little Philip here has some- 
thing of a resemblance to Agnes Hammond, his mother, 
and Philip’s mother was the woman whom Mr. Dunne was 
once engaged to marry.” 

“Oh, won’t I have great news to tell Isobel when I go 
back to New York,” exclaimed Philip. 

“ But you’re not going back to New York, dear,” said 
Mrs. Easton. 


1 86 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“ Not? 0,1 go to Isobel. Me and the Professor start 
to-morrow.” 

“No, Philip,” said Mr. Hammond, who having mas- 
tered his emotion had just entered the box; “ no, Philip, 
you will not go to New York. To-night you come home A 

“ Home ? ” 

“Yes, my child. Our home is yours: and you and 
Isobel and the two other little ones are going to gladden 
the hearts of an old man and an old woman who were once 
very obstinate and very cruel with their dear daughter 
Agnes, and who have been doing the penance of the heart 
ever since. O my God ! how good you are to a man who 
has been proud and headstrong.” He turned his face away 
and bowed his head. 

Philip stepped over and took his hand. 

“ May I call you grandpa ? ” he asked. 

“ Please do. Ah, Belle,” he added, turning to Mrs. 
Easton, “ think of the joy and light and gladness that are 
to come into our house ! When my wife sees this little 
boy, this little boy with the sweet, angelic features of our 
dear little girl whom we lost, lost through our own 
wretched pride, when my wife sees him and hears his voice 
and is called grandma, O, there will be the greatest joy that 
can be looked for upon earth ! But — but I cannot talk. 
It is too much. Belle, I will go aside and — and — pray. 
Only God is to be spoken to at a time like this. John 
Dunne will attend to everything.” 

He left the box, as he spoke. 

“Why,” exclaimed Jennie, “ I never knew how much 
grandpa loved his daughter Agnes ! ” 


His First and Last Appearance . 187 

“ No, dear; he wanted no one to know. But she was 
his dearest; she was the apple of his eye. And since — 
since she left Milwaukee nineteen years ago, he has never 
spoken of her, never allowed her name to be spoken in 
his presence, never gone to church.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“And to-night for the first time, Jennie, he ac- 
knowledges his own pride and obstinacy. For the first 
time he speaks of God’s goodness. Jennie, your dear 
grandpa is quite overcome.” 

“ And do you think, aunt, that he will begin to go to 
church again ? ” 

“ Indeed, my dear, anything seems possible now. Now, 
my children, let us go ; the people have all gone away. 
Philip, where are your # things ? ” 

“ I want to write a letter to Isobel right away,” said 
Philip. 

“Never mind, dear. Mr. Dunne will see to that. I 
suppose he is now talking with your Professor. But where 
are your overcoat and hat? ” 

“ Come along, aunt : they’re in one of the dressing- 
rooms. Say,” he went on as they passed through a side 
door near the box and went behind the scenes, “you don’t 
think they’ll do anything to Professor Himmelstein? 
He’s the nicest old man in the world — almost as nice as 
my grandpa.” 

At that very moment, Mr. Dunne was treating with 
the poor Professor. On leaving Philip, he had returned 
to the private dressing-room. He found the old musician 
sitting with bowed head and clasped hands, the picture 


1 88 His First and Last Appearance. 

of one who had drunk the cup of life’s bitterness to the 
dregs. 

“ Professor Himmelstein,” he said gravely, “ l have 
come to thank you for stealing that boy.” 

“So?” muttered Himmelstein, vaguely, and looking 
up with lack-luster eye. 

“Yes. Philip Lachance and Isobel are no longer poor, 
homeless children. Owing to his appearance here to-night, 
he has found his grandfather and all the relations of his 
mother. Philip and all of your little New York friends 
are now beyond the danger of want and poverty. His first 
appearance is his last. And they are coming to one of the 
happiest of homes.” 

“O my Gott!” said Himmelstein, rising, and catching 
Mr. Dunne’s hands. “You make not a mock? You are 
not deceiving an old man ? ” 

“ Indeed, no. Your little ones have found a home and 
loving relations and friends. God bless you for the love 
and care you have shown them.” 

“It is the hand of Gott,” said the old man, beaming 
with joy. “Ah, Isobel, ah, Philip. Now I shall go away, 
and 1 shall not come back; for I am not worthy. But far 
away in Vaterland I shall think of you night and day. 
And when I die I shall die happy, because that you, my 
lofely children, are happy and gay and — and — ” 

He could say no more. He sank back into his chair, 
and covered his face with his hands. 

“No, Professor,” said Mr. Dunne, looking with love 
upon the old man. “You will not go away. Where Isobel 
and Philip are, there shall you be.” 


His First and Last Appearance. 


189 


“ Ah, but she will not forgif me. She should not forgif 
me. 1 haf stolen the poy and have struck the dagger of 
sorrow into her heart.” 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourself for so judging 
Isobel. It is to you that she will owe the joy of the home- 
coming. Now, Professor, give me her address in New 
York, and we shall at once send her a telegram. Oh, what 
a beautiful Christmas it’s going to be for us all.” 

The sound of many feet was heard without ; the door 
was thrown open, and in danced Philip. 

“ Ho, Professor,” he shouted, running up in high glee, 
“ you said I would astonish the audience and I did, didn’t 
I ? Here’s my Aunt Belle, and here’s grandpa, and here’s 
cousin Jennie, and cousin Walter — and, Professor, I’ve got 
a lot more relations.” He changed his voice and said in tones 
of awe: “Cousin Walter says that the woods are full of them.” 

“ So ! ” beamed the Professor. 

Every one shook hands with Himmelstein, every one 
had something nice to say, every one invited him to be a 
guest. 

“No: he is my guest for the present,” put in Mr. 
Dunne. “And now, Philip, put on your things and go 
home with your relations as fast as you can.” 

“ That’s right,” said Philip affably. “ I haven’t had 
any supper yet.” 

“ Meantime the Professor and myself will see that 
Isobel starts for Milwaukee to-morrow morning and is 
here the night before Christmas.” 

“ Hurrah ! ” yelled Philip. “ O but won’t it be a 
Christmas and a half.” 


190 His First and Last Appearance. 

“ You can bet your life on it,” responded Walter. 
***** 

On the morning of December the twenty-second, 
Isobel, around whose eyes the circles had grown darker, re- 
ceived a letter. On glancing at the envelope, she recog- 
nized the handwriting of Professor Himmelstein. She held 
it unopened in her hands for several minutes. She feared 
the import of its contents. Finally she opened the enve- 
lope, and read what follows : 

“ Near Milwaukee, Dec. 20, 1899. 

“ Dear Isobel : 

“ I call you dear, although I have no right; for I have 
deceived you. I stole Philip away for his voice. I 
wanted him to sing in public just once ; and to-night he will 
sing one song. He will sing at about ten o’clock — Mil- 
waukee time — on Dec. 22. Pray that he may do well : 
pray that no harm may come to him. I can not pray. I 
am too wicked. After the song, we will spend the night 
here, and then we will come back to New York, and Philip 
will be with you in time for Christmas. May it be most 
happy and merry for you. It will not be so for me; for 
on that day, or on the day before, I shall see my Philip 
for the last time, and you I shall not see again never more. 
It is hard, for I love you — love you and Marie and Charlie. 
It is hard. But I have dug the grave in which I must lie, 
only I pray you not to remember the Professor Himmel- 
stein, who deceived you and stole away your little boy, but 
to remember the old man who taught Philip and loved 
him, and who was your true friend till the devil got into 
his heart and persuaded him to do a cruel thing and a 


His First and Last Appearance. 


191 



“ ‘ Listen , Marie J she said presently 



192 His First and Last Appearance. 

wicked thing. God forgive me. 1 shall not see your face 
again : God help me. Only pray that Philip may sing 
well to-night. Pray, pray! It is the only joy I look to 
in this life. Your unhappy and most unworthy friend, 

“ Henry Himmelstein.” 

“Ah, dear old man,” said Isobel. “God knows I for- 
give you ; and God knows I would be only too glad to see 
your dear old face again.” 

Isobel did not go to bed as early as usual that night. 
She kept her vigil for the dear little brother who was to 
face some audience —where she knew not — for the first 
time. Marie, too, was staying up. At half-past nine, the 
two went on their knees, and began the recital of the rosary 
to the end that Philip might sing well, and that no harm 
might come to their dear little brother. They finished 
the joyful mysteries, and were just in the first decade of the 
sorrowful, when there came a rapping at the door. 

“ A dispatch — paid,” explained the boy to whom she 
opened it. 

Isobel signed her name in the book presented her, and 
then eagerly tore open the dispatch. 

“ Listen, Marie,” she said presently. “ Philip well and 
safe at home. He has found his relations. Be ready to 
start for Milwaukee, to-morrow morning. You are to be 
home for Christmas. Philip very happy. 

“John Dunne.” 

“What — what does it mean, Isobel ? ” 

“ I don’t know, my dear. But one thing is sure : we 
have received good news. Philip is happy, and we are going 
home, my dear, we are going home, we are going home ! ” 


His First and Last Appearance . 193 

And Isobel sobbed. 

“ Now, Marie, let us finish our beads,” she said after 
she had recovered herself. “ And we shall finish them to 
thank God for His mercies, His mercies that endure for- 
ever.” 

Rarely did two pure young hearts rise so high on the 
wings of prayer as did the hearts of Isobel and Marie on 
that December night so gloomy, so sad but an hour ago, 
but now glorious with hope. 

Shortly after their prayers, another footstep, heavier this 
time, was followed by another knock without. 

“ Come in,” said Isobel. 

A gentleman entered. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “but is this Miss Isobel 
Lachance ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. James 
Leroy, an intimate friend of Mr. Dunne, of Milwaukee. 
He has just wired me to act as his agent in seeing to your 
being provided with everything you need for your trip to 
Milwaukee.” 

“ How kind of. him ! ” 

“ I hope you will excuse my intruding on you at so un- 
seasonable an hour : but I thought 1 should come at once 
to tell you that to-morrow morning I will call for you with 
a carriage and tickets and sleeper and — and - is there any- 
thing you could wish ? ” 

“ No, thank you, sir. It is very good of you to take 
so much trouble for us.” 

“ Oh, not at all. Mr. Dunne’s friends are mine- And 


194 


His First and Last Appearance. 


what I do for you will be a pleasure. Now, be sure to be 
ready in the morning. Mr. Dunne says that money is no 
object — have — have you everything you need? ” 

“ Thank you : yes, sir.” 

“ Well, good-night. You will reach Milwaukee on the 
afternoon of December the twenty-fourth.” 

Isobel had a beautiful dream that night. Angels were 
flying through a sky sown with stars, and as they flew she 
heard them singing: “You are going home, going home, 
going home.” 

When she awoke she was smiling, but there was a tear 
upon her eyelash. 


His First and Last Appearance . 


*95 


CHAPTER XX. 

IN WHICH THERE IS A JOYFUL HOMECOMING, AND MR. 
HAMMOND, OBEYING HIS GRANDCHILD, ARISES AND 
GOES TO HIS FATHER’S HOUSE. 

I T was the afternoon of Christmas eve, when the train 
which bore lsobel and Marie and Charlie steamed into 
the Milwaukee depot. 

“O lsobel,” screamed Marie, “ I see Philip! There 
he is — don’t you see him ? He’s there, near the gate.” 

lsobel, following these directions, perceived Master 
Philip. He was standing, the center of a goodly crowd. 
Even as she looked, he caught her eye, and she could see 
his mouth open, though she could not hear the musical 
yell of great joy that burst therefrom. Forthwith, every 
one in that crowd, apparently, began to wave handkerchiefs. 

H ow well little Philip looked ! His smug little face 
blossomed like a red, red rose from out the wraps of every 
kind which enswathed him. There were many faces in 
that crowd strange to Isobel’s shining eyes. But among 
them, there were not a few that she recognized with a swell- 
ing heart. Jennie was there— Jennie her cousin, though 
lsobel knew it not. Beside her were Sophie and Edna, 
rosy and smiling. Other girls were there, too, girls of the 
Holy Angels’ Academy; and standing behind them — 
Isobel’s heart leaped for joy as she looked — were Sisters 
Agnes and Cecilia, the latter waving her handkerchief as 
enthusiastically as the youngest of her charges. 


196 


His First and Last Appearance. 


“ And look at my friends, will you?” piped Charlie. 
“ There’s Walter and Paul and Leo and Tony, and they 
look so glad.” As the passengers were now going out, the 
three took their places in the slow procession. 

“Isn’t this Isobel Lachance ?” asked a gentleman as 
Isobel alighted. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Welcome home. Welcome to Milwaukee. I am 
Philip’s friend, John Dunne,” he said, shaking her hand 
cordially ; “ and this,” he added, pointing to an old gentle- 
man standing beside him, “is Mr. Hammond. He is 
your mother’s father, Isobel.” 

“Welcome, welcome, my dear child. You shall have 
the place that your poor, dear mother should have had in 
my heart.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” whispered Isobel; 
“ it is all so strange and so beautiful. May I call you grand- 
father ? ” 

Mr. Hammond, as he pressed her to his bosom, 
answered : 

“ Indeed, you must call me nothing else.” 

“ And here,” said Mr. Dunne, who had meanwhile been 
paying his addresses to the two children, “ are Marie and 
Charlie. Did you ever see two lovelier little grand- 
children? ” 

“ It is too much : I have not deserved all this.” Mr. 
Hammond, having kissed Marie, took the little boy in his 
arms. 

“ Now, Isobel,” continued Mr. Dunne, whose mustache 
had been much abused since the night of the lecture, 


His First and Last Appearance . 197 

“ there’s a crowd of your friends and relations waiting for 
you; and if we delay a minute longer Philip will have a fit.” 

Quickly they turned their steps toward the gate — 
quickly they passed through it, and then the scene that 
ensued is beyond description. Such handshakings, such 
laughter, such tears — happy tears they were — such cries 
and screams of joy, such suiprises of recognition, such dis- 
coveries, such affection, such welcome - there was never 
anything like it in the history of the Chicago, Milwaukee 
and St. Paul Station. 

If on ordinary occasions, Walter looked like a glorified 
pussy cat, what could be said of him now? His face was 
a perfect hurricane of smiles, and he expressed his feelings 
by pounding his two particular friends, Paul and Leo, with 
an unsparing hand, to which they responded wiih no Jess 
vigorous kicks and digs of joy. 

In the midst of this demonstration, Tony, one vast 
blush, advanced upon Isobel and presented her with a 
bunch of flowers. It was the most daring thing Tony had 
ever done, and everyone broke into applause as he dis- 
appeared, very hot and filled with a sense of his own ex- 
treme awkwardness. 

It was a cloudy day; the thermometer was only a few 
degrees below freezing point, and as Walter happily re- 
marked, it was snowy weather. A few flakes were to be 
seen when Isobel got off the train ; but with each second they 
came thicker and faster, till now that the happy party 
emerged from the station, the air was white and heavy with 
the swirling fall. 

“ O, but won’t we have a time these holidays!” cried 


198 His First and Last Appearance. 

Walter. “There’ll be snow all the time, and we’ll have 
just all the fun we want.” 

Isobel s heart was full to overflowing when she came 
face to face again with Sister Mary Agnes. 

“ O Sister ! how glad I am. Your face has haunted me 
these days, and my heart always sank when I thought 1 
should never see you again. And you here, Sister Cecilia? ” 

“ Yes, dear: and,” she added with triumph in her tones, 
“ I ’ve a box of candy for Marie.” 

Sister Mary Agnes smiled. 

“ O, it s all very well to laugh,” continued Sister 
Cecilia, “ but all healthy girls like candy.” 

“ But where’s the dear old Professor? Where’s Pro- 
fessor Himmelstein ? ” asked Isobel, glancing around 
anxiously. 

“That’s a fact,” cried Philip. “What’s become of the 
Professor ? ” 

“ O, there he is,” cried Walter, pointing toward the 
steps leading up to the waiting room. 

Yes, there he stood, hat in hand and with bowed head, 
waiting, it would appear, to receive sentence of death or 
perpetual exile. 

Hardly had he been pointed out, when Charlie and 
Marie with shouts of joy scampered away madly, and liter- 
ally threw themselves upon the timid old man. 

“Almost bowled him off his pins, didn’t they?” ob- 
served Tony, sympathetically. 

Isobel was after the two with all the speed consistent 
with the hard and fast lines of dignity required of a young 
lady of eighteen. 


His First and Last Appearance, 


1 99 



“ Charlie and Marie literally threw themselves upon the timid old man." 


“Ach Gott! Oh himmel ! ” ejaculated the Professor 
as he hugged the two little ones. Suddenly his face ceased 
to beam, as he saw Isobel approaching. 

“ So ! ” he groaned. “ O what is to do ? ” 

“ Why, Professor, you dear old Professor, how are you ? 
Indeed, indeed, I forgive you from my heart.” 

“ But, Isobel,” he faltered, “ can you really forgive me ?” 
“ I have forgiven you long ago. And now I remem- 


200 His First and Last Appearance. 

ber only your love and kindness and unselfishness. 
No, Professor, if there were ten thousand new friends 
awaiting us here, we could never, never forget our old 
friend, who stood beside us in our saddest and bitterest 
hours.” 

“ O, but this is nice ! Isobel, you are an angel. And 
Isobel, when I took away the little Philip I was not my- 
self. I was crazy. I had an opsession. Nothing like it 
will ever happen again.” 

“I believe you, Professor: and, indeed, I can’t imagine 
how anything like it could ever happen again. Where are 
you staying, Professor? ” 

“ I am the guest of Mr. Dunne. And he bosses me 
much. He says I shall not go away until he haf made a 
consultation with you.” 

“ Here, Isobel,” called out Mr. Hammond, “ our sleigh 
is waiting you ; and I have much to tell, my grandchild, 
that you should know.” 

Grand Avenue was alive with sleighs. But as our pro- 
cession passed westward to Twelfth Street from the depot, 
the racing came to a standstill. Everybody knew Mr. 
Hammond; everybody knew the strange story of the past, 
and had heard of the joyous homecoming of his grand- 
children. So the sleighs were brought from the fastest to 
the slowest of movements, and as Isobel sat beside her 
grandfather with Marie and Phil and Charlie, her heart 
beat gladly to the glad greeting of men and women, who, 
though they had never seen her before, welcomed her so 
cordially and kindly to Milwaukee. 

“Welcome home! Welcome home!” cried many a 


His First and Last Appearance. v 201 

hearty voice. In answer to which Tony and Walter and 
Paul and Leo bawled out : 

“ Merry Christmas ! ” 

“There’s our house, our home,” said Mr. Hammond, 
as they came in the neighborhood of Twenty-fifth Street 
and Grand Avenue. 

££ I never lived in anything near so fine as that, grand- 
father. Why, it’s one of the finest houses I’ve seen in 
Milwaukee.” 

££ I’m glad you like it, dear. There’s a nice room in it 
looking west and with a southern exposure, for you ; and 
there’s another for Philip and Charlie as for Marie, she 
shall have anything she wants.” 

Marie cuddled up to the old gentleman. Poor little 
child ! she was simply hungry for love. 

As they drove up before the front entrance, an old lady 
with snowy hair appeared at the door. Her fingers were 
working convulsively, and she was straining her eyes to 
catch a glimpse of the newcomers. 

££ Look, Isobel,” piped Philip, ££ that’s grandma. O, 
you’ll just love her. She looks so like mamma. And 
Mrs. Easton, that’s Aunt Belle, is there standing behind 
her,’ and she looks exactly like ma. Run up and hug 
them, Isobel. Grandma’s been praying and praying that 
nothing might happen to you on the train.” 

For the nonce, Isobel did forget that she was a dignified 
young lady of eighteen. Leaping from the sleigh, she 
dashed up the steps and threw her arms around her grand- 
mother’s neck. 

££ My dear, dear child! ” cried the old lady. ££ Welcome, 


202 His First and Last Appearance. 

welcome.” She could say no more. All the tenderness, 
all the love she had once lavished upon Agnes came back at 
this moment. She was a mother again, a mother folding 
to her heart her own child, the child of her fondest love. 
Agnes had gone away at the age of eighteen, and here, in 
her place, was Jsobel, not unlike her departed mother as 
Mrs. Lachance had last been seen in Milwaukee. 

Several minutes were spent in the exchange of warm 
greetings. Then, Mr. Hammond, taking Isobel’s hand, 
said : 

“ Now, Isobel, come with me to your room. I wish to 
show it to you. Blanche,’’ he added, addressing his wife, 
“ please see that Isobel and myself are not disturbed: I 
wish to tell her all.” 

“ O what a pretty room ! ” exclaimed the girl as she 
entered the chamber destined for herself. 

“ Isn’t it ? ” 

Upon the wall over the bed ivy leaves had been formed 
into the words “ Welcome Home.” Holly and laurel were 
present in profusion. As for the appointments, they were 
in perfect taste. 

“ The hands of your cousin Jennie and your friends 
Sophie and Edna have touched this place lovingly. They 
have been working and devising day and night since the 
twenty-second to make it just what it should be for their 
dear Isobel.” 

“ Who had this room before, grandfather? ” 

“ It was not occupied regularly. We used to call it 
Jennie s room. She was in the habit of staying over night 
with us now and then. But Jennie is very, very happy 


His First and Last Appearance. 


203 



Several minutes were spent in the exchange of warm greetings 




204 


His First and Last Appearance . 

to give it up. In ordinary matters, Jennie thinks that it 
is better to give than receive. On this occasion she is 
happy beyond description. I built this house four years 
ago, Isobel. People couldn’t understand why. The only 
thing that I could say was that I wanted to have a place 
for my grandchildren. I was thinking, dear, not of you 
and Philip and Marie, but of Jennie and Walter, and 
their younger sisters and brothers. Sometimes I used to 
ask myself whether I had been foolish. You see, Isobel, 
I did not know that you existed even.” 

“ But, grandfather, how do you explain all this ? 
Beyond the facts which Philip told me concerning his song 
at the Pabst Theatre, I don t understand.” 

“ Sit down, my dear. There, take your own chair, and 
I will tell you all. The story is not for your little brothers 
and sister: they could not understand. 1 have brought 
you here to make you understand everything.” 

Isobel seated herself, and pale with excitement, ad- 
dressed herself to listen. 

“ Your mother, my dear grandchild, was the youngest 
of the family. I’m afraid we all petted her too much: she 
was treated as the baby. Even when she was fifteen years 
of age, we always, sisters and brothers and father and 
mother, we always called her ‘ Tiny We denied her 
nothing. In fact, we studied her least wish. For a time 
she actually ruled the house. Agnes had a temperament 
quite unlike the other members of the family. She was 
subject to many moods in a single day. Under our train- 
ing, she developed a nasty temper, and, at times, would be 
plunged into fits of melancholy which frightened us. De- 


205 


His First and Last Appearance. 

spite the remonstrances of the Sisters of Notre Dame, 
whose academy she attended, we took her from school 
when she was sixteen, in order that she might devote all 
her time to music. The sisters granted that she had ex- 
traordinary musical gifts ; they granted that she should get 
a special training; but, they insisted Agnes sadly needed 
the discipline of the school-room. She was a spoiled child, 
and, unless we were on our guard, the girl was sure to have 
an unhappy life.” 

“ Poor mother!” sighed Isobel. “The Sisters said 
true. She had a hard, bitter life.” 

“ My wife and myself both felt that they were right. 
But Agnes settled our doubts. She said flatly that she 
would not go back to the Notre Dame Academy; and that 
settled it, so far as we were concerned. 

“ So she went her own way, and chose her own pro- 
fessors, and went in and out of the house very much as she 
pleased. There was only one person in the whole world 
who seemed to have any influence over her — and that per- 
son was John Dunne. He loved her, and she loved and 
revered him. They became engaged shortly after she left 
school, and with the engagement the trouble began. Mr. 
Dunne, very properly, called Agnes to account for a cer- 
tain touch of Bohemianism in her manner of life. They 
quarreled, but it ended by the girl’s giving in. For some 
time everything went well. After a year the engagement 
was made public. The marriage day had been settled on, 
and to appearances, there was not a cloud on the horizon, 
when suddenly Agnes changed her manner of dealing with 
Mr. Dunne. She became self-willed, exacting and cold. 


His First and Last Appearance. 


206 


Mr. Dunne felt that he was losing her love ; but he could 
not account for it. Rumors reached him, anonymous 
rumors, that there was another lover to reckon with. He 
was too high-minded to give them any heed. One day, 
however, he met Agnes walking arm in arm with a stran- 
ger. He bowed; she flushed. A few hours later, he re- 
ceived a note from her in which she begged to break off 
an engagement which she had made without sufficient con- 
sideration. Then he came to me. It was a bitter hour 
for both of us. I became very angry, angry for the first 
time, at my youngest daughter. I had been patient and 
long-suffering— but a limit had come to everything. I 
paid no attention to Mr. Dunne’s remonstrances, who 
wanted me to sleep over the matter, but sent at once for 
Agnes. Mr. Dunne begged to retire, but again I insisted 
on his staying to witness the scene. 

“ Agnes entered lightly, carelessly, but when she saw 
my face, she suddenly grew hard and defiant. Fool that l 
was ! I was too blind to see what was coming. 

“ ‘ Agnes,’ I said, angrily, c is this your letter ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, father.’ \ 

“ ‘ Do you mean what you say here ? ’ < 

“ ‘ Yes, father.’ 

“ ‘ And who was that man you were seen walking with ? ’ 
I cried in a burst of anger. 

“ She returned anger for anger. 

“ ‘He’s 'the man I’m going to marry,’ she answered, 
hotly. 

“ ‘His name? Did you pick him off the street? If 
you did, you may go to him on the street.’ 


His First and Last Appearance . 207 

“ Agnes smiled mockingly : that smile roused me to a 
fury, of which I never imagined myself capable. And 
Agnes answered me fury for fury. We were both of us 
out of our senses. My dear, I can not bring myself to re- 
peat what I said. Mr. Dunne endeavored to stop me, 
and — and— I struck him, struck the young man whom I 
loved as though he were my own son. And my poor 
daughter, whom we had been training all her life for what 
was coming, my poor daughter vowed that she would 
never enter the house again, that the name of father and 
mother should never, never again be pronounced by her 
lips.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Isobel, her eyes filled with horror. 

“ She said that rather than utter the name of the man 
she loved in that house she would cut her tongue out. 
Isobel, I never knew what an awful monster pride was 
till I heard your poor mother repeating the lessons we had 
unconsciously taught her. Angry as I was, 1 began to see 
that I had made an awful mistake. But before I could say 
anything to the purpose, she swept out of the room and up 
the stairs to her own apartment. As she closed herself in, 
she said that she „would leave the house that night, and 
that we should never see her, never hear of her again. Of 
course, I could not bring myself to believe that she would 
carry out what she had threatened. But when supper time 
came Agnes did not appear at table. We went to her 
room. She was gone ; and from that day, though we have 
employed detective bureaus and made all manner of in- 
quiries, we learned nothing till little Philip jumped from 
the stage into the arms of his Aunt Belle.” 


208 His First and Last Appearance . 

“ Poor mother ! She paid dear for leaving home,’ said 
Isobel. “ And you, my poor grandfather, you must have 
suffered intensely.’’ 

“ God alone knows how 1 have suffered. My pride has 
helped me to keep up an appearance ; but till the night 
Philip sang, dear, every pleasure of life turned to ashes on 
my lips. But now, dear, now 1 know not why, God has 
been good to me. But what was it brought you to Mil- 
waukee ? I asked Philip about it, but could not quite 
make out what he wanted to say.” 

Isobel, in answer to this question, told him the story of 
their life in New York, of her mother’s reconciliation with 
God, of her last command and her death. 

“So, grandfather, I came to Milwaukee as a matter of 
obedience.” 

“ Ah, my dear, it was you, not me, that God rewarded. 
It is your goodness that has made me and mine so happy.” 

It was a merry Christmas-eve party that gathered about 
the board. There was little laughter at supper, and strange 
as it may appear, not much talk. But there was a great 
joy in every heart, a joy too deep, too full for the ordinary 
channels of expression. “Eyes looked love to eyes;” 
words were inadequate. 

“ Isobel,” said Mr. Hammond presently, “in bidding 
you welcome home in the name of all present, I desire to 
state that your grandmother and myself have resolved to 
make you mistress of this house from now till the close of 
the Christmas holidays.” 

Uproarious applause from the small boys. 

“ Your will,” continued the old man, genially, “ is law, 


His First and Last Appearance. 209 

and shall be law till January the fourth. During these 
days, 1 hope you will contrive to meet and to entertain all 
our young friends, and, of course, all your new-found 
relatives. Jennie, Edna and Sophie shall be your lieu- 
tenants, and I'm quite sure you will be kept busy enough.” 

“Thank you, grandfather,” said Isobel, as the old 
gentleman seated himself. 

“Have you any plan for this evening? Is there any- 
thing you should like to do ? Your grandfather is quite at 
your service,” he added. 

“ It’s Christmas eve,” said Isobel. “ Grandfather, have 
you been to confession yet ? ” 

“Why, no, child,” answered the old man, growing as 
red as a turkey-cock. 

To add to his embarrassment the eyes of every one in 
the room were turned on him. 

“Very well,” continued Isobel in the same matter-of- 
fact tones, “ we shall go together now, if you have nothing 
else to do. Will you be ready by the time I come down 
with my things ? ” 

“Why, certainly,” gasped Mr. Hammond. 

She came down presently attired for a walk on the 
Avenue. 

“God bless you, my child,” whispered Mrs. Hammond. 
“ Do you know when your grandfather went to confession 
last ? ” 

“ When, grandmother? ” 

“ Not since your poor mother left us twenty years ago.” 


210 


His First and Last Appearance . 


CHAPTER XXI. 

ISOBEL HEARS THE ANGELS CALLING. 

T HE pew of the Hammonds in the Gesu Church was 
not large enough to contain the worshipers of that 
family who attended the four o’clock high Mass. Isobel 
knelt between her grandfather and grandmother. 

When the children’s choir sang “Venite adoremus, 
Venite adoremus Dominum,” “ Come, let us adore the 
Lord,” she chanced to turn toward her grandfather. His 
head was bowed in adoration and in gratitude. 

Isobel went up with her grandfather to the communion 
rail. She had to assist him back to his seat. All the faith 
and the love and the devotion of former years were 
awakened once more in that aged breast, and the joy and 
gratitude well-nigh overmastered him. 

As they left the church after thanksgiving, they found 
Professor Himmelstein awaiting them. His face was beam- 
ing as the face of a young-eyed cherub. 

“ Merry Christmas, merry Christmas ! ” he said, shaking 
hands violently with each of the party. “ Ah, it is wonder- 
ful, the ways of God.” 

“ Professor,” said Isobel, “you take dinner with us to- 
day — doesn’t he, grandfather? ” 

“He takes anything you say, Isobel — and welcome.” 

“ Ah, I shall come. And Isobel, I haf great news. 
The goot organist of this church, Professor Ehlmann, has 


His First and Last Appearance . 


21 I 


asked me as a favor to have Philip sing Noel at Benediction 
this night. And Mr. Dunne, he want it too. And, 
Isobel, you will not make objection to me if — ” 

“Why, of course I’ll not object. All of us shall be 
delighted to hear our little Philip sing the song which has 
brought us the happiest Christmas we could imagine.” 

“Ah, Isobel, you are an angel. And Isobel, 
Mr. Dunne, he says that I remain here, and 1 shall 
have music work enough, and be near my little friends 
all the time. O, Isobel, may I, ma’y I still train the angel 
woice ? ” 

“Why — ” Isobel began, but was interrupted by Mr. 
Hammond. 

“ One moment, Isobel. Professor, only on one condi- 
tion may you continue to train the voice of Philip.” 

“It shall be. Name it,” cried the old man, making as 
though he were going to turn a handspring, but wisely 
checking himself. 

“ The condition is quite simple, and it's to oblige me. 
You have taught Philip these two years without charge. 
Now that he is my Philip, you must be paid for every les- 
son.” 

“ So ! It pays itself to hear the woice.” 

“Yes: but it pays me to pay you. I would not be 
content to let the teaching go on otherwise. And Pro- 
fessor, there are a few more of my grandchildren who are 
to have their voices under your care. In fact, you may 
count on at least a dozen pupils by the first of January.” 

“ So ! * Ah, I will not know want. I will be rich, and 
I will be near the kinder whom I haf always lofed.” 


212 His First and Last Appearance . 

To attempt describing the joy and happiness of that 
day would be useless. Isobel could hardly persuade her- 
self that she was not in a dream. But one week before, 
she was bowed under a burden that promised to endure. 
But a few days before, she was praying for food, for light — 
almost praying for death. And now the little ones had a 
home and loving friends, and she herself was without a sin- 
gle burden. 

“ Thank God, thank God ! ” sang her pure heart in the 
very midst of all the gaiety about her. 

How good He has been ! Since her mother’s death, 
God out of the trials and tribulations had led her on in His 
own wondrous way to friends and home and happiness. 
She had been obedient, blindly obedient. She had placed 
herself with so much confidence in God’s arms; and God, 
who can not be outdone in generosity, had guided her with 
a certain and unerring hand. 

The bitterest trial of these days had been the kid- 
napping of Philip. It was the wickedest act of the simple 
old Professors life — if, indeed, he was responsible. Yet 
out of evil God had drawn good. 

All these thoughts surged through her brain 
in a sweet prayer of thanksgiving as she knelt before 
the Blessed Sacrament at Benediction that Christmas 
afternoon. 

“ What return shall I make to the Lord, for all that 
He hath done unto me?” she murmured, her eyes fixed 
upon the sacred Host. 

Just then Philip’s voice was heard — richer, rarer, 
sweeter than she had ever heard it : 


His First and Last Appearance. 


213 


tf O holy night ! the stars are brightly shining. 

It is the hour of the dear Saviour’s birth. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining. 

Till He appeared, sweet Babe, upon our earth. 

A thrill of hope the weary world jejoices. 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Fall on your knees ! Oh, hear the angel voices. 

Noel ! Noel ! O night when Christ was born ! 

Noel ! Noel ! O night, O night divine ! 

As the song went on, her eyes filled with tears, so that 
she could see nothing but bright points of flame upon the 
altar. But her spiritual eyes beheld the grot at Bethlehem. 
And then, singularly enough, there flashed before her a 
sweet face, gentle and joyous, a face shining out from an 
encircling narrow white frill, covered by a long, black veil 
— the face of Sister Mary Agnes — looking into hers with 
love and invitation expressed in every lineament. 

<c Fall on your knees,” she hears Philip singing : “ O 

hear the angels calling.” 

But she does not hear the words that follow. The 
music, indeed, fills her ears ; but the words which sound in 
her heart, filling it with ineffable joy, are “ Veni, sponsa 
Christie veni sponsa Christi a Come, thou spouse of 
Christ! come, thou spouse of Christ ! ” 

And she understands clearly, and does not doubt, for 
the voice is sweeter than voice of any humar). singer. She 
knows it, and loves it — the sweet voice of the Babe of 
Bethlehem. 

[the end.] 



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